Simply Passing Time
by Emo Cowboy
Summary: Be a rancher. That's all Chelsea signed up for. Not to be a hero, not to save the Sunshine Islands. And certainly not to fall in love. Chelsea/Will for now. ON HIATUS/being rewritten. : sry.
1. Promising

_"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." - e. e. cummings_

**SIMPLY PASSING TIME**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Chelsea sat up in bed with a start, momentarily forgetting where she was, a darkness surrounding her. A sharp rattling had woken her, and she clutched the lightweight quilt to her chest as the spring breeze swirled around in...where was she again? As her vision adjusted to the dark, she flopped back down onto her pillow, smiling. Oh, right, this was _her_ place. Her closet of a house, on her barren ranch, but it was hers. Something to call her own, that no one, nothing, was going to take away from her.

"Not that anyone in their right mind would want to," she finished her thought aloud as she caught sight of a small cluster of cobwebs that had formed under the leg of her nightstand, before burrowing further down into bed, with the hope that the spiders those webs belonged to had long since departed.

The clacking sound that had woken her up started again. She pinpointed it as the window shutter. Try as she might to block it out, with the aid of a pillow over her head, it was useless, especially coupled with the stiff puffs of wind that kept rippling over her sheets and prevented her from falling back asleep. Finally she threw off the covers, and with a groan, hopped out of bed to switch on the lights. Barefoot, she crossed over to the window, only to find the latchhook that held the shutter in place was broken. __

She forced it shut with both of her hands, then ever-so-slowly drew her hands away. It stuck! Just as a victorious smile spread across her face, a giant gust of wind propelled the shutter against the wall so hard that it made an earsplitting noise not unlike that of a whipcrack.

"_No!_" she cried out to no one, sitting down cross-legged right then and there on the boarded floor, hands balled up in fists in her bed-messed hair.

The shutter continued flapping away, and Chelsea sat stock still for the next few minutes, her mind wavering between the notion that this was exciting - finally being out on her own and having a run-down shack that _she_ could fix up and take care of and be proud of - and the thought that if she couldn't even keep her windows shut, how was she going to take care of a ranch, and more importantly, her_self_?

She felt something warm creeping across her toes. Just in case those spiders had decided to come out of their hiding and greet her, she bit her lip so as not to scream and wake up the entire Islands.

But what Chelsea saw was just the opposite. A thin faded beam of light. It was morning already? She looked up from her foot to the window, and indeed it was. The soft pinky-peach of a new day braided up through the dissolving night, a reminder that today was _different_ than yesterday, and all things yesterday, including faulty window shutters, should be put aside in place of a fresh new day.

She stood and moved to her suitcase to dig through her clothes, and haphazardly stuffed the articles she didn't want to wear that day into the dresser. To her pleasant surprise, the dresser seemed to be quite sturdy, despite its telltale signs of aging that would suggest otherwise.

She slipped on an orange linen shirt over her yellow tee as she exited her house, searching for Taro. The old man shouldn't have been hard to spot on her desolate property. Still, she looked back and forth and back and forth across the horizon: the windmill in the west, to the center of the ranch where a bridge crossed to Verdure Island, over to the tool shed, and back again.

With a small sigh, Chelsea sat down on the hard patch of dry soil, a makeshift welcome mat befitting for her shack. She allowed her eyes to slip shut, laying her head back against the door as the rising sun's rays spun a soft web up along her bare legs.

It couldn't have been more than two minutes that she'd been relaxing, on the verge of drifting back off to sleep, when a wooden cane came crashing down split between her ankles. She scrambled to her feet with a scream.

"Wake up! The ranch won't harvest itself!" He stabbed his cane into the dirt a couple more times to emphasize his point.

Chelsea nearly bolted back inside the house, but Taro's expression wasn't stern, full of disdain, as she had expected from the tone of his voice. No, his beady eyes glinted with mischief, his bristly mustache hiding a warm smile. He stood proudly in front of the bewildered Chelsea, permitting her a few seconds to regain her composure.

She'd met Taro, his daughter Felicia, and her children when she'd arrived on the island yesterday. Elliot was her age, and Natalie a year or so younger, so at least she wouldn't be completely friendless. Or that was what she hoped, at least. A small part of her was nervous that she wouldn't quite click with either of them.

Taro headed around the back of the house, and Chelsea followed. "Do you have any experience in farming?"

"Well, uh...not officially, no." Taro raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of such an open answer. Chelsea cleared her throat and continued, with more conviction. "I mean! Nothin' I've ever been paid for, that is. But I've been around this," - she waved out towards the empty acres behind her - "my entire life."

She explained to Taro how she'd spent many summers as a young girl helping her aunt tend to her garden, and her family's elderly neighbors who had since passed on always let her run around and play with the animals on their farm, as long as she assisted them with menial chores in return. They walked slowly, casually, around the perimeter of her ranch, as she talked and plucked the weeds easily from the ground, preparing for her first attempt at crop-growing. He nodded in acknowlegement as she, unprompted, launched into _why_ she wanted this too, sparing few details.

How she'd been working odd jobs the past three (almost four) since graduating high school, trying to save up to get her own place, but hadn't found career paths she particularly liked. She knew that most people didn't _like _what they do for a living, necessarily, but they didn't feel so empty from it, either.

Chelsea had longed to find _some_thing. Only a week ago, she'd been paging through a newspaper on her lunch break, something she rarely did, when she came across a "Wanted" ad. She hardly ever read the paper, save for the funnies (it was so redundant; petty crime, births, random story about someone thinking they saw the Harvest Goddess in their piece of breakfast toast and subsequently trying to profit from it), that she took it as a sign when she opened the paper right to the ad, and decided to give them a ring.

And that's when she spoke to a sweet-voiced woman (who sounded almost a little too excited that _any_one was calling) about the opportunity to settle onto the fledgling ranch and make her mark as a useful member of society. Chelsea found out when she arrived that she had been the only one who called about the ranch.

So she got the job by default. That didn't exactly instill much confidence in her, at least in regards to what the other islanders thought of her, but she was already determined to take care of herself, to live on her own, make her own life. The ranch was simply a means of doing that. Besides, it was something she wanted to do, something she felt she would enjoy, at least. So it wasn't scary in an unfamiliar sense, only the anxiety over not knowing what the future would bring, what sorts of broken window shutters would be flung in her path.

Taro presented Chelsea with her own tools of the trade: a watering can and hoe, and a complementary bag of turnip seeds. As corny as it sounded, it made her feel special. She politely listened to him as he explained about tilling and planting seeds. She already knew the gist of what he was telling her, but understood how he'd want to make double-sure that she had her head screwed on right when it came to this.

The thought dawned on her that _she,_ and only she, would be responsible the bulk of the Islands' income. _Oh dear. _She gripped the hoe in one hand tightly, not sure if she was sweating now because of the slight dread that was washing over her, or because the sun was rapidly making its ascent, and the sunshine absorbing into her clothes, her hair.

Then it was time to get to work.

The elderly man kept a watchful eye on his pupil, but she hardly noticed him, channeling all her fears and hopes into each swing of the hoe. Each mighty _thunk!_ was just another "what are you _doing_, Chelsea?" being destroyed.

After planting the seeds she received, Taro had to all but tear the hoe out of Chelsea's hands to get her to rest. Giving her some wild herbs to munch on, he explained how they could be found all around the Islands, and she would do well to stock up on them for snacks as she went about her daily routine.

Chelsea ate the herb in two huge bites, pretending it was a fat ice cream sandwich, then stricken by the stomach-turning thought that she'd be chowing down on grassy ice cream sandwiches morning, noon and night. But she couldn't renege on the monologue she'd given Taro, a promise that she was here for the long haul. Where would she go, anyway? She couldn't go back to Streusel County, not to where every building, every person, every _something_ reminded her of times she'd rather forget. She needed new memories, badly.

"Good job!" Taro announced as he surveyed the land. He smiled fondly at the blossoming ranch, and Chelsea swore she could see ripe, juicy vegetables dancing in his beady eyes, some by themselves, others partnered with dollar signs. She didn't say anything, as exhaustion began to catch up with her. She just overlapped her hands over the hoe handle, resting her cheek on them.

Taro maintained his knack for startling her and patted her firmly on the shoulder. "ATTAGIRL!"

The hoe tippled out from her hold, and she scowled at him as she picked it back up.

"Now!" He continued, as if scaring young adults out of their boots was a normal activity for him. "I have good news! The ol' hip's actin' up-"

_Oh no._ At first Chelsea had pegged Taro for a fount of farming knowledge, but maybe he was just a crazy old man, and if she didn't stop him, he'd start talking about kids these days! and reminiscing about walking to school barefoot, uphill both ways, through a blizzard.

"-which can only mean it's going to _rain_ tomorrow!" He waved the cane wildly. Was he going to do a rain dance? She wouldn't put it past him. "So! Your crops should receive plenty of water! It'd do you well to explore the Islands, meet everybody!"

She gulped. _Everybody? Just how many people were on the Islands?_

"Bah!" Taro must have noticed her concerned expression. "What the heck! Why not meet 'em now! I arranged for some of 'em to stop by this afternoon, the ones who'll help ya take care of your farm!" He squinted up in the direction of the sun. "Looks like it's almost 4:30, they should be here any minute!"

Chelsea occupied herself by watching the windmill as Taro babbled on something about talking to her turnips to make them grow faster. Ten minutes later, she saw three people crossing the Verdure Island bridge together.

Taro corralled them by Chelsea's front door, and they took turns introducing themselves.

There was Mirabelle, a portly middle-aged woman with a cheerful smile who ran the livestock store. There were already animals at her shop, and even though Chelsea didn't have a place to house them yet, she was ecstatic about visiting them, getting to know them. Mirabelle seemed more than pleased with Chelsea's enthusiasm, and told her the door was open any hour of the day for whatever needs befell her, farming or otherwise.

Chen was a merchant, an easy-going, honest-looking man who owned the general store neighboring Mirabelle's. He informed her that all the seeds she'd need would be available at his shop, and in an effort to be both a tiptop salesman and person, he was willing to special order anything extra that she might need, for her house or just daily life.

And finally, Gannon. He was huge, hulking, and spoke gruffly, but it was plain to see that he took immense pride in his job as a carpenter, boasting that anything Chelsea wanted done on her house, or ranch, he would finish by daybreak the following day. Chelsea could only believe that someone so passionate about their line of work was certainly a good person all-around, and mentally noted to talk to him someday soon, figuring it might help her get through what could be a rough first week or so.

The trio finally bade Chelsea farewell, and Taro, who had stood silent the whole time, piped up again.

"Why don't you call it a day, young miss! Rest up, you got a lot ahead of ya tomorrow!"

She replied with a sweet smile and thanked him for his "interesting", if effective, way of teaching her. With her hoe in one hand, reached for the door with the other.

"Chelsea!"

Pressing up on her toes, Chelsea strained her neck out to look behind Taro, to her field, thinking perhaps she'd forgotten to water something. Why else would he have called for her, if not because she'd messed up somewhere? She snapped down to pick up her waterin can before looking back at Taro.

"Why don'tcha come over for breakfast tomorrow?"

"O-Oh!" She exclaimed. "Really?"

"Sure thing, kid! There's always room for another butt at our table! Now I gotta get goin', but I better see ya tomorrow, 7 o'clock sharp!"

Chelsea very nearly hugged him, but didn't want to disturb his allegedly aching hip. She just thanked him again, and waited until he strode off into the dimming day, over the bridge back to Verdure Island.

Entering her house, Chelsea spread her arms out as if they were wings, twirling around on her way to bed, and bouncing onto it with a happy squeal. Of all the ways she pictured her first day going, it couldn't have been better than this. She, in all her pessimism and nsecurities, had conquered Day One. It had always been her Achilles Heel: finding the confidence to start something new, and keeping at it. Sure, it wouldn't get any easier, from here on out, but from her experience today, she felt no matter what, it wouldn't get worse and that she _would_ persevere.

She changed into her pajamas and spent some time reading, some time unpacking and situating everything, some time day dreaming. And every now and then she would just walk over to the window and take a good look at her baby turnips, feeling validated each time. This whole adventure was becoming more and more real.

The wind was rustling outside, threatening of a Spring storm. Perhaps Taro wasn't quite as crazy as she thought. The rain droplets started dotting the window sill, and she slid out of bed to close the windows.  
_  
That damn shutter_! She couldn't just ignore it, not with the house in the state it was in. She didn't need a condemned property brought about by her own carelessness.

Her hoe was propped up against the wall right next to the windows, and perfectly even in height with them. Hm.

She simply moved it a few feet to the right, tilting it slightly so the blade nestled comfortably in the shutter's slat.

"Stay," she coaxed, holding her hands out as if trying to prevent it from attacking her. "_Stay_..."

It listened! For now. She climbed back into bed, facing the window, watching it with bated breath.

The wind picked up outside, whistling through the rain as it pelted the house. This was it, the moment of truth.

The shutter creaked, teasingly, but remained shut. Chelsea waited two wind-bursts more, and heard absolutely nothing from the shutter. It had conceded. A smug smile formed across her lips as she cuddled her stuffed bear close, snuggling deeper under the covers and drifting off in a matter of moments.

Chelsea 1, shutter 0.


	2. Encounters

_Ugh_.

Chelsea screwed her face up, studying her reflection in the mirror. She'd showered, dried her hair, and combed it out, but it still looked and felt so gross. Obviously a product of all the labor she'd put in the day before. Still, she wanted to appear as if she put _some_ sort of effort into herself, and not just tumbled in from Hickville.

Brushing it back hastily, she snatched a red bandana out of the dresser drawer, and knotted the fabric around her head. _Hm, not bad_. Maybe she should wear it all the time, not just for keeping her hair out of the way while tending to her farm. It could be her signature, like how superheroes had capes, or pirates had eye-patches and hooks. Someday every rancher-to-be would sport a red bandana somewhere on their person, in honor of the Great Chelsea.

The rain had been falling steadily since last night, just as Taro had predicted. One glance out the window told Chelsea that her crops were more than quenched, so much so that she wouldn't even have to bother watering them tomorrow.

She slung her rucksack over her shoulder; it was empty, but she was unsure of how long it'd be until she returned. Besides, Taro had advised her to collect any and every thing she came across, to try and ship it.

Rain pattered around her, all over her as she sprinted out the door and down the path to Taro's. She didn't bother knocking on Taro's door, and didn't exactly feel bad about it. Taro had pretty much barged onto her property without warning, so it was only fair.

Not to mention that she was starving.

Felicia didn't seem to mind, and actually was quite pleased that Chelsea showed up a few minutes ahead of her 7 o'clock invitation. She took Chelsea's damp overshirt from her, and ushered her over to the kitchen table, where three familiar faces were already digging into breakfast.

A place -her place- beside Elliot and catacorner from Natalie was already marked with a giant bowl of hot rice cereal and hashed potatoes.

She'd met the siblings briefly when she arrived, nothing more than an exchange of "hello"s. The first thing that struck her was that even with very similar physical features, there were markedly different from each other, which became more evident as breakfast went on.

Natalie always spoke her mind, and waved her fork around animatedly as she did. She interrupted Elliot on more than one occasion, and he seemed very resigned to allow her to do so. It was fairly amusing, because there was nothing terribly mean-spirited behind her words. In fact, Chelsea got the impression that the more Natalie cared about someone, the more she poked fun at them.

And Elliot wasn't anywhere the loser his sister made him out to be, though. Sure, he was reserved and awkward, but he was also terrifically welcoming and open-minded. He and Chelsea held small side conversations throughout breakfast (Chelsea did most of the talking, though she suspected Elliot's silence was more from his worry that Natalie would butt in with a witty remark than a lack of anything to contribute) before his question about her interest in ranching sparked the attention of everyone at the table.

She was sure this wouldn't be the last time she'd have to tell the tale, so she'd better practice. She tried not to tell it the exact way she'd told Taro, but reeled off all her motivations, her voice growing louder, more passionate.

"-so I figure, even if I'm not the _best_ there ever was, I want to be here, and-"

Chelsea clammed up mid-sentence, realizing she was only repeating herself and probably becoming a bit of a bore. Her view panned around the table. Everyone seemed satisfied with her answer, but a trace of uneasiness was on all their faces

"I-I'm sorry." Chelsea wasn't quite sure what she was apologizing for, but she felt it was the correct thing to say in the moment. She stirred her spoon around in her cereal lazily, wishing it'd create a vortex that would suck her up and away from the uncomfortable silence.

Felicia set her hand to her cheek. "Oh, no, dear, it's not _you_, only..." the on her lips, and her gaze was far-off, depressed as she finished the sentence in her thoughts; clearly, it was far too awful to vocalize.

"Only we've had ranchers before. And they all sucked." Natalie said, refusing to let her eyes meet Chelsea's.

"_Oh_," Chelsea mouthed. Though she realized the criticism wasn't directed towards her personally, she couldn't help but feel disheartened.

"But I'm sure _you_can do it, Chelsea." Elliot brought a hand to her shoulder, supportive. "Grandpa said you're different than them, he can tell already." His voice was full of a committed confidence in her, that at least somewhat unraveled the knot in her stomach.

"Or maybe..." Taro fingered at his mustache thoughtfully. "Have you ever heard the legends of the Sunshine Islands?"

"_Ughhh_," Natalie groaned exaggeratedly, and blew upwards into her pink bangs. "C'mon Gramps, Chelsea didn't come here to listen to your tall tales."

"Natalie!" Felicia chided her daughter as she stood up, clearing the table of all the empty bowls and dishes. Natalie slouched back in her chair, crossing her arms in a huff.

"That's right!" Taro exclaimed, wagging a gnarled finger at his pouting granddaughter. "Not everyone is as cynical as you. Now..." He paused emphatically, raising a fist in the air before slamming it down violently on the table, eliciting an "Eep!" from both Elliot and Chelsea. "THE LEGEND OF THE SUNSHINE ISLANDS!"

Taro's yarn came across very well-practiced, but as passionate as an actor on his first opening night. He told how the Islands were once prosperous, a hub of business for every industry. A hot spot for families and CEOs alike, until a devastating earthquake destroyed the archipelago. Most of the Islands sunk into the depths of the ocean, the only reminder of their one-time dominance being a mysterious shrine on Meadow Island.

"What do you think, young lady?" Taro eyed her, and it was as if her tongue was weighted down into her mouth when she tried to respond.

"Well, it's...uh. It's very interesting, but I just..." she sighed, frustrated, not knowing any other way to put it but bluntly. "What does this have to do with me?"

"PLENTY!" Taro bellowed. "Only that legend has it that one day someone will come to the Islands to save them, to bring them back to the powerhouse they once were! The Islands are finally starting to bustle again, to garner attention of business magnates and entrepreneurs! It can't just be coincidence that ya showed up! It's a sign from the Harvest Goddess!"

"The Harvest Goddess..." Natalie muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes before pointing a finger right at Taro. "Gramps, you tell this to every new rancher we get!" Her tone cooled, a sense that maybe she was unintentionally insulting Chelsea. "Chels, it's...it's not you. Like, I'm sure you'll be great on the farm, okay? Really." The corners of her lips turned up into a gentle smile, confirming she wasn't just blowing smoke. "But you get it, right? We've had to hear about the Islands being resurrected our whole lives. Personally, I think it's just a fable. I'd just worry about the ranch if I were you."

To Chelsea's surprise, Taro didn't counter anything Natalie said. In fact, he agreed with Natalie that Chelsea should, for now, keep all her focus on her ranch, and that fate would intervene if needed. She nodded obediently, and said her goodbyes to everyone. Elliot saw her to the door, which was nearly blocked off by mountains of shipping supplies.

"I hope Grandpa and Natalie didn't scare you away from coming by again." He scratched at the back of his neck, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he stared past Chelsea, at the floor. "To tell you the truth, most of the other ranchers left because of all that talk about the Islands. I guess it was too much pressure, or maybe they just didn't care enough." Elliot looked cautiously up at Chelsea, pressing his glasses back up so they magnified the kindness shining from his eyes. "I hope you stay, though."

"Thanks, Elliot." In spite of Elliot's shyness, she started to trust that when he did speak, it was only genuine. "And no, the whole thing about the Islands doesn't scare me away, and it's not even that I don't believe your grandpa." She tapped a finger to her chin, tilting her head to the side. "Only it does seem rather odd that I would have anything to do with it, I guess. You know, I've never really done anything terribly important before, so it's all a little weird."

Elliot sighed wistfully. "Yeah. I know what you mean." Chelsea fully believed that he did.

"Wait, Chelsea!" Felicia shuffled over to them. a small travel rack of spices cradled in her arms. "Are you leaving already? Would you mind returning this to Pierre?"

She took the spices from Felicia, who readily explained. "Pierre lives right across the way, he's quite the cook!"

"_Chef_, Mom!" Natalie called from across the room. Chelsea wasn't sure how Natalie had heard Felicia clear enough, or why she would be. Maybe Pierre's name caught her attention, as Natalie sounded almost offended on Pierre's behalf over Felicia's mistake.

"Oh, dear, excuse me: _chef_. He'd be awfully upset if he knew I referred to him as a mere cook! But, anyway, you should pay him a visit. It's not every day one gets to rub elbows with a Gourmet!"

"You mean, a gourmet chef?" Chelsea examined the spices that were now in her possession. They were all very rare, high-end varieties: saffron, ginger, cardamom. Even the salt and pepper looked exotic.

"No, I mean _a_ Gourmet! You must've heard of them!"

She had! Only the most prestigious family of food critics in the history of...well, ever! They had their own line of cookbooks, food guides, even reality TV shows. There was one of them living on these islands? How bizarre. She would have assumed that a member of such a well-to-do clan wouldn't be found anywhere near an unsophisticated community like the Sunshine Islands. She pictured instead, a spacious mansion with the most ornate, expensive kitchen known to man, ingredients spilling out to the point of excess and obstructing the view of any equally pricey gadgets.

"I'll see that he gets it. Thank you for breakfast, and tell Natalie and Taro I said 'thanks,' too'" Felicia nodded and gave Chelsea a loose one-armed hug before returning to the sink to scrub the dishes. Elliot, ever the gentleman, opened the door for Chelsea. She giggled softly at his unneeded attempt to impress her. "And thank _you_, Elliot." Elliot's cheeks flushed pink as his hair, and Chelsea stepped foot out into the weakening rain. 

* * *

The chef in question lived a hop and a skip down the lane from Taro, his house adorned with purple decor, in all different shades. It wasn't huge by any means, but it did give off an aura of importance. _You can take the Gourmet out of his class, but you can't take the class out of the Gourmet_, Chelsea thought as she knocked on the door using her foot.

The Gourmets Chelsea knew of were almost caricatures of real people, with humongous lips and ginormous stomachs, as if governed by fate to deal with any- and everything food. The young man who opened the door, though, was anything but. He had shining purple eyes, sweepy blond hair and a winning smile, and he wasn't much taller than Chelsea herself. His vivid purple jacket and spiffy red bow tie certainly made him stick out in any environment, and Chelsea got the idea that that didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Pierre?"

"Yes!" Those violet eyes lit up at the sight of his spices. "Oh!" He plucked them from her, and hurried back inside his house, which could only be described as an enormous kitchen. In fact, if Chelsea hadn't spotted the bed in the far corner of the home, she wouldn't have thought that anyone actually lived here full-time, only spent hours upon hours cooking away.

But the first thing that hit her was the amazing aroma that saturated the residence. There wasn't an exact scent she could pick out, just an array of spices and seasonings, making her almost forget she'd just stuffed herself with breakfast. She marveled at how someone who surrounded himself with food, as Pierre did, was still so relatively small.

He immediately started adding a pinch of this, a dash of that into the pots that were simmering on the giant stove that took up a whole corner and then some. She couldn't resist, and wandered over beside him to watch him work. His tongue was poking out in deep concentration as he jotted down notes on a tablet of paper that lay on the counter.

After a short amount of time, he turned away from the stove, and to her. "I hope you don't think me rude. I just had the most incredible inspiration this morning, and just had to test it out the moment I got my spices back. The rain always makes me want to conjure up a new, wonderful stew! Something comforting, you know, to combat the dreariness of the rain."

Chelsea never had much of a fervor for cooking, but she did relate with the strive for perfection Pierre exhibited. "I'll bet you have a recipe for _every_ type of weather, though." She stuck her hand out. "Chelsea, by the way."

Pierre laughed at her observation and shook her hand firmly with his; it was hot from the steam of the soup. "I don't mean to be imposing, but would you like to me to assist you with cooking? I'm sure Taro's pushed you to ship all your crops, but they can be used in the most scrumptious of dishes!"

"Oh, I'd love that, but I don't even have a kitchen!"

"You...what? No _kitchen_!" Chelsea shook her head, lips pressed together in a bit of embarrassment. "So how do you _eat_?" Pierre clapped his hand to his forehead, utterly appalled.

"Well, uh, I'm a master of the microwave, if I do say so myself," she beamed, hands clasped behind her back, bobbing up on her toes.

Pierre was not amused. "That won't do at all! You must promise me you'll have a kitchen before my Cooking Festival in Summer!" Chelsea nodded furiously, and gave her word, despite a few hours ago not having even foreseen the need for a kitchen.

Pierre took her promise as a symbol of instant everlasting friendship, to which she couldn't have been more relieved. He invited her to stay for a spell, and aid him in his quest to develop a mouth-watering, never-before-tasted soup to top all soups. She obliged, though felt extremely self-conscious in his presence, given his quasi-fame.

He was only a year older than her, and already so accomplished, having authored his own cookbooks and critic guides. But he didn't present himself in a boastful manner, actually entirely the opposite. Chelsea found herself completely enthralled as Pierre spoke of all that was left to achieve, of the lengths he had gone to and was willing to go to to acquire only the finest ingredients. It was this never-ending curiosity that brought him to the Sunshine Islands, the desire to separate himself from other Gourmets. Not to limit himself to the kitchen but explore what nature had laid out for him and to make use of it in his craft.

At last, Pierre ladled out the final product, a thick cheesy chowder teeming with fresh veggies and bacon and the most incredible aroma. Chelsea shoveled it into her mouth, the memory of the last time she had a home-cooked meal escaping her mind for the time being. Pierre didn't seem too excited, complaining about how he may have gone overboard with the pepper, or perhaps the cheese he'd used in the broth was too soft.

It was so rich that she passed on a second helping, but Pierre was more than content to have extra to share with the other residents of the Islands. She held a hand to her stomach, feeling it might explode, as she reluctantly moved to his door. She vowed to him that she would deliver him the ingredient even _he_ didn't know he was missing. In turn he proposed they meet up at the diner across from his house sometime soon so he could show her some of Nick, the diner owner's, finest creations, some of which Pierre claimed had the chance to be "legendary" (with a little guidance from himself, of course).

At that word, her mouth opened with the intent to question him on whether or not he knew anything of this "legend" Taro had told her about at breakfast, but she thought better of it for now, not wanting to put a damper on their pleasant first meeting, in case he thought her certifiably insane for even bringing the topic up. Agreeing to a future meal with Pierre, she then set off before she could change her mind about telling him about all of Taro's stories. 

* * *

The rain had cleared, but a tower of grey storm clouds loomed in the sky, itching to burst. Chelsea kept an eye on them, treading cautiously down the path as if she might provoke them if she stepped too abruptly. The bridge to Sprout Island was in her sight, but she came to a halt by a giant silo, which was erected next to a building with a horseshoe nailed above the front door. This must be Mirabelle's shop.

There wasn't anything she needed to buy yet. Hell, she couldn't imagine earning enough money to even have a barn or coop built anytime soon. Mirabelle though, had been one of the first people to extend friendship towards Chelsea, and told her that she could stop by the shop whenever she wanted. Well, this was "whenever", right?

The door was unlocked, so she walked right in. Mirabelle wasn't there. Instead, a young woman Chelsea's age was standing by the entranceway to what Chelsea supposed were the living quarters, with a sandwich in one hand and a magazine in the other. She was wearing tall white boots, cutoff denim shorts, and her button-down shirt was tied up high under her bust, exposing her waist. She was a good five, six inches taller than Chelsea was, and much more...Chelsea thought of the word "feminine"-looking, though was sure that in any male's lingo, it'd be "smokin' hot". She subconsciously crossed her own arms in front of her chest, feeling somewhat inadequate.

Her blue eyes flickered as she noted Chelsea's presence, and a grin followed. She gobbled up the rest of her sandwich and set down her magazine, hurrying over to where Chelsea stood, by the shop counter. "Are you Chelsea? The new rancher?" She seemed breathless with excitement, although Chelsea thought perhaps she ate her sandwich too fast.

"Yeah, I..."

"I'm Julia! I've heard all about you from Mom and Felicia!" She clapped her hands together, almost as if she were going to start a cheer.

_All about? I've only been here a day, what was there "all about" to tell?_

"You're not in a hurry, are you?" Julia sounded like a child, one who'd just met a new playmate at the park and decided for absolutely no reason at all that they were now best friends.

"Oh, I..." It _was_ only a little after noon. "No, not really, I guess," she answered noncommittedly.

That all Julia needed to hear. She took hold of Chelsea's hand and dragged her into the kitchen. After just being at Pierre's, Chelsea felt almost claustrophobic as she tucked in to the table that barely sat two comfortably. Julia brought over a kettle of water and two mugs with teabags in them, pouring them full before sitting down across from Chelsea.

"Ohmigosh, it's so nice to have another girl on the Islands! I mean, you've probably already met Natalie, but she's practically a boy, and there's Sabrina, but she's so _shy_ and Lanna is always busy with _Denny_ lately." Chelsea had no idea what Julia was talking about, but she nodded anyway, fiddling with the string of her teabag. "Ugh, oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't complain, you know? Everyone here is super-nice, I guess the rain just drives me crazy, staying indoors, makes me think more than I do any other time! So I think about the craziest things!"

She hummed faintly, stirring her tea, then tapped her spoon dry on the rim of her mug. "But enough about me! I bet it's fun running the farm up there, I know I would try it if I weren't so busy helping Mom with the shop. An' Mom said you at least _wanted_ to, and to raise livestock too! Really? All the other farmers we had before you would whine about taking care of the animals..."

Chelsea immediately spoke up, her blood boiling at these people she didn't know and didn't _want_ to know. She calmed down as the talk veered to what she'd done in the short time she'd been there, about planting her crops and meeting Pierre. Even though Julia was very talented at talking, she also had a way of listening, a constant smile and an overt interest in the topic at hand that led her to ask just the right questions, that compelled Chelsea to not hold back. She soon found herself, again, with the legend of the Islands on the tip of her tongue, waiting for just the right opening to let Julia in on what she had refrained from telling Pierre.

She never got the chance, cut off by the unmistakable clop of boots hitting the wooden floor. Julia touched Chelsea's arm to politely interrupt her story, then raised her hand, waving to where the sound was coming from.

"Hey Vaughn, you were out there late!"

Chelsea turned around in her chair. Standing against the sink with a glass of water in one hand was, assumably, Vaughn. He was tall, taller than anybody else she'd met on the Islands so far, and he looked like he'd stepped out of the Wild West with his boots, vest, and black cowboy hat, not to mention his stone-cold expression. If he'd heard Julia's greeting, he didn't acknowledge it. He just took a long sip of water, eyes on the girls like they were a zoo exhibit, interesting in a foreign and unintentionally entertaining sort of way.

"Vaughn, have you met Chelsea yet?" Julia sounded almost pained asking him, leading Chelsea to wonder if she'd ever spoke to him before today, either.

Vaughn removed his rain-soaked hat with his free hand, revealing a head full of sweaty silver-grey hair, and wiped the back of his arm across his forehead. "Who?" He sounded exhausted, though Chelsea wasn't sure if it was from work, or from having to talk to Julia.

"Chelsea! She's the new rancher!" She gestured across the table from her, as Chelsea tried to get a better idea about this Vaughn.

At first glance he looked a fair bit older than her (she supposed it was the silver hair more than anything), but now, she figured he was about her age, the same age as a good amount of the other Islanders. It didn't take much to deduce he wasn't the friendliest person, either. His body language suggested an ability to sense when he was within fifteen feet of another human being, and to not allow that distance to close. He set his hat back upon his head, its brim obstructing his eyes, and in turn any glimpse of emotion he might demonstrate.

"Nope," he replied flatly before taking a final gulp from his glass, and turned on his heel, crossing the store and taking a seat behind the register, propping his long legs up on the counter and hunting through the pile of magazines there for something to busy himself with. _Or_, Chelsea thought, _at least look busy enough that Julia wouldn't bother him again_.

Julia's smile had faded, and Chelsea racked her brain for some sort of way to help her regain it, but she didn't quite think she and Julia shared the same sense of humor.

"So uh...are you two related, or something?"

Julia giggled, her nose wrinkling as she did. "Heavens, no! Where would you get an idea like that?"

Chelsea lowered her voice, not wanting this Vaughn character to hear her, though she didn't think he cared much about what anybody had to say about him. She was glad she at least made Julia laugh, even though she didn't think her question was all that funny. "I don't know, he just looks like he doesn't want to be here, at all. Like the only reason he'd be here would be for a family obligation. And besides, you both kind of look alike. I mean, you're so tall and thin..."

"Oh, no, he..." Julia shook her hair out of its ponytail, and pulled it back up, tighter and higher than it had been. "He just brings the animals in from other islands, takes them with him sometimes. He's really good with them, that's what he was out doin', givin' them extra care since they aren't gonna be out in this rain. He's only here a couple days a week, I think he likes to make sure the whole week's work gets done in the two days he's here, or somethin'!"

Chelsea found it hard to believe that he was good with anything that involved interaction, animal or otherwise, but she just nodded.

Julia steered the conversation back to Pierre, which baffled Chelsea at first, but she soon realized what the blonde was digging at was if there were any sort of romantic potential in the works. This annoyed Chelsea a tad, but she understood that Julia didn't mean anything terrible by it, just an interest as one female to another. She assured Julia there was no sort of ulterior motive to her wanting to get to know Pierre better, and that the last thing she'd come to this Island for was to find a boyfriend.

The clock by the cupboard cuckooed twice, 2 PM, and Julia excused herself, saying her mother was returning from lunch with Felicia soon and she wanted to make sure the porch was swept clean, that all the grooming tools were put away in their proper places. She told Chelsea to come by the next fair day if she wasn't busy, and she'd give her a tour of the stables.

That left Chelsea alone in Mirabelle's shop alone with Vaughn, who was still seated behind the counter, engrossed in what looked like some sort of puzzle in one of the magazines he'd picked up. If he was concentrating, he didn't show it. The only thing that moved in the slightest were his strikingly violet eyes flicking back and forth as he scratched in an answer every now and then.

Chelsea strolled over to the counter, keeping her head up. She could tell he sensed when people were intimidated by him, and she wasn't at all. Just as puzzled by him as he was by the crossword he was working on; it was only half-filled.

"I'm Chelsea, I run the ranch up...well, the only ranch on the Islands." She held out her hand, hoping he wouldn't make her look as foolish as he did Julia.

"So I've heard." He smirked and extended his hand to meet hers, giving it a quick but sure shake. "Name's Vaughn." His eyes went back to the puzzle, and he erased a couple boxes.

"Julia said you're only here a couple days a week."

"Yup." He stifled a yawn and Chelsea honestly wasn't sure if it was real or if he was subtly trying to get her to take a hint.

Adjusting her rucksack on her shoulder, she felt like she shouldn't have even bothered introducing herself to him. She'd been there before, on his end; some new person waltzes into everybody's life and thinks everyone and anyone should know them. She hoped she wasn't coming across that way to the rest of the inhabitants. He didn't seem _mean_, just generally aloof, which made it more awkward. At least if he was outright rude, she'd have an excuse to tell him to knock it off. But he wasn't really doing anything wrong, he just wasn't interested in people.

Julia did say he had a way with animals, though…

"So I...I guess I'll see you around, then. I can't wait to get my own animals, I-"

"Guess so." 13-Across became much more important to him at the moment than small talk with the farmer girl, as he penciled in the answer. She felt like telling him it was wrong, that "scared" was a 6-letter word for "cowardly", not "afraid", like he'd written. She could see ahead that he'd have problems with 13-down with his current answer, but he'd figure that out on his own.

Lightning lashed across the sky as Chelsea tentatively pressed the door open a few feet, keeping an ear out for the thunder that should present itself at any second. The rain had started again, drumming on the roof and trickling off the eaves.

"Be careful out there."

Chelsea stutter-stepped, startled, holding the door ajar and turned her head back. It was definitely Vaughn's voice but he was still immersed in his crossword puzzle. She waited to see if such an unprompted statement would be explained, and Vaughn scribbled an answer down on the paper before doing so. "'S rainin' pretty hard." Chelsea detected a shade of arrogance in those words, a warning that normally suggested one's concern was only condescending, told-you-so, coming from him.

Now he might just be searching for an argument. And that was fine with her, as her blue eyes narrowed in his direction; if he wanted to get prickish with her, she could dish it right back.

"No. It's n-"

Right on cue, a roll of thunder echoed through the whole shop and the sky split open, the rain coming down in sheets. Chelsea glanced back at Vaughn, who was holding the pencil just so in front of his lips, which were so slightly curved up into what would be his version of a smile, and a patronizing one at that. She clenched her hands to the door frame, counting _1-2-3_ before dashing out in the storm. Her eyes squinted shut, trying to block out the _very very light_ rain as she ran full-force across the bridge to Sprout Island.

13-Down: Stubborn.

* * *

_Wow. This was a lot longer than expected :S But I had fun writing it! :D I love all the bachelors (actually all the characters, period) in SI, so that's what made it so fun. Yes, I know one of them is missing but no worries, there's a reason he didn't show up yet._

_By the way, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and even those of you who haven't reviewed yet, thanks for reading it at least! I do love reviews though, so don't be shy, even if all you have to say is "OMG WRITE MORE!" or "THAT WAS AWFUL!" Well, I hope you don't think it's awful, actually, but yeah. Reviews are luff._

_I can't say how soon the next chapter will be up, as I'm currently in the process of moving halfway across the country. So uh, yeah, kind of busy there. But I am working on it!_

_Also, if anyone knows a way of doing section breaks other than the ruler...PLZ HELP D: I've tried a million different ways to get it to space and nothing works :(_

_-EC_


	3. Unbelievable

_Sorry about the delay! I'm finally getting acclimated to my new city! Turns out there's a lot more trivial little things that need to be taken care of than I at first thought. Oh well, at least I've had **Yoru_No_Angel** pushing me to keep working my fic, so thank her. Or blame her if you hate it. ;P _

* * *

The days melted into each other, but were by no means boring, mundane.

Chelsea had found a routine of sorts, waking up at the break of dawn to tend to her crops for a couple hours before heading into town. Each day she felt herself growing more resilient to the rigors of the job, whether it was all in her mind or actually truth.

Gannon had bestowed upon her some of his old tools; an axe, hammer, and a sickle. Suddenly the prospect of expanding her ranch didn't seem so daunting now that she'd have some of her own materials to supply. Every day she stopped by Gannon's shop to estimate how much longer until she could afford his services, and every day he would laugh heartily when she would set her mind on a different goal. One day, the only next logical step was to get the chicken coop (and her own chickens!). But then the following day, after lunch with Pierre, she made up her mind that she'd have to go after the kitchen instead, and the day after that, Julia would do her best to nudge her towards having a barn built. And so on, every day, the future remained unwritten and intriguing.

Her biggest fear, that of a grass-only diet, had been squashed by daily invitations by Taro's family, who in a few days kept an extra seat permanently at their table for Chelsea, and by Chen, who prided himself on eating healthy and urged Chelsea to do the same, to stay in peak physical condition.

And by, of course, Pierre. Sometimes the two would eat at his house, but mostly he accompanied Chelsea to Nick's, and the cafe on Sprout Island, Halia's. Not only were the meals at both places delicious and filling, but each owner offered Chelsea recipes to keep for herself. She was nearly certain that all the recipes she'd been given Pierre already knew like the back of his hand and could have shown her how to make them in a matter of minutes, but got the greatest satisfaction in standing back and allowing her to work through the bulk of them on her own, and only chipping in when she was absolutely stuck.

Between all her work on the farm, and general socializing with the other islanders, and misadventures in cooking with Pierre, she found a true kindred spirit in Denny.

Denny was the (mostly self-proclaimed) fishing expert of the Islands. Nearly everyone who lived on the Islands had _some_ sort of knowledge of fish, at the very least knew how to cast the reel. Just as Pierre had taken her under his wing in regards to cooking, Denny implored Chelsea to let him aid her in his area of expertise. And just as with cooking, she wasn't the biggest fan of fishing (she tried it when she was younger, but _hated_ touching the slimy bait worms, and always made her dad hook them), but from what Denny told her, he'd accumulated quite a hefty sum of cash over the Winter through his sport, and advised her to do the same. That even if she never gained the affinity for it that he had (though he couldn't imagine that she wouldn't), that the money she made from it would make her ranch bigger, faster than anything else she could do on the Islands.

The events surrounding their first meeting were memorable, to say the least. After a few hours of refuge in Carol's Inn during the early spring thunderstorm, Chelsea had wandered to the Sprout Island beach, in search of any sort of oceanic debris that she could ship out, or perhaps give to Pierre for use in a recipe.

The briney scent of the sea mixing with the wet, grassy smell from the freshly-soaked plants that bordered the sand made for a wonderful atmosphere, so soothing. She wasn't the only one who found it welcoming; as she approached the shoreline to collect the urchins that lay there, she saw down a ways two strangers, a male and a female. Though how close they stood together suggested they were anything _but_ to one another.

The young man had tanned skin and broad shoulders and defined arms and...(Chelsea scolded herself to _stop_ noticing any more about him) turned out to be Denny. He was talking to pretty girl in a flowing turquoise dress with a curtain of blonde hair.

She observed within earshot as the girl who she later discovered was Denny's girlfriend (or, as he put it, "sort-of girlfriend-like person") Lanna, bubbled over with excitement, having made her first catch of Spring and bragging about it to Denny.

Neither of them had noted Chelsea's presence until Lanna held her hands out, shoulder-width apart, squealing, "He was this big!"

Always a victim of no brain-to-mouth filter, Chelsea blurted out the first thing that entered her mind. "That's what she-"

She cupped a hand over her mouth, knowing her comment was uncalled for, but she could barely fight the flood of giggles. Lanna whirled and shot Chelsea a glare, more over the fact that anyone dare eavesdrop on their conversation than the comment itself. Denny, on the other hand, broke out into a fit of laughter, making absolutely no attempt to hide his appreciation for well-timed ill-mannered humor.

"Oh, you _wish_!" Lanna elbowed Denny in the gut, and he dropped to his knees with an "oof!" as she stomped off. This only fueled Chelsea's giggle attack, but she wound her way over to Denny, and introduced herself with no words, only a smile and a hand to help him back to his feet.

And so, a connection was forged.

Denny and Chelsea were on the save wavelength with many things, not just their sense of humor. She found she rarely had to explain things to him, that he would just nod, completely understanding, and sometimes even finish a sentence for her better than she would have herself. It reminded her of a combination of the big brother she never had and her childhood best friend that had moved away years.

While Chelsea never intended to spend so much time with Denny, the hours always whiled themselves away when they spent time together. Denny was one of the more talkative people she'd ever met, but his incredible honesty made him easy to talk _to _as well, though his bluntness landed him in hot water with Lanna from time-to-time. But Chelsea appreciated it, knowing she'd never have to wonder where she stood with him.

Sometimes her thoughts would flutter off to the topic of the Islands, of their resurrections, and that's where . He frequently spoke of the King Fish, mythical fish that were said to only reveal themselves to the most gifted of fishermen, if they even existed at all. And when he did talk about them, it was passionately and unapologetically so. He believed he would reel them all in one day, and when Chelsea asked him why, _how_, he answered without hesitation.

"Hey, why _can't_ I?" It was the first time Chelsea felt she may have offended the usually carefree Denny. His brows furrowed and the little bird that was perched permanently on his shoulder, Popper, ruffled his feathers to imitate his owner's rising temper.

"No, no...I didn't mean like, your ability." She set her hand calmly on Denny's forearm. "I meant more, like, about them bein' out there. You said you've never seen them before. How do you know you're not wasting your time?"

It was a question that welled up in her own mind from time to time. She always mentally kicked herself for not just outright asking Denny over the several times they hung out, but she wasn't exactly sure how Denny would react to such a serious conversation, as most of their talk had been nothing but lighthearted joking, of the random strange and sometimes hilarious occurrences in their life. Perhaps she would be pushing the friendship too hard by opening such a deep topic, and Denny would laugh in her face and tell her she was crazy despite his own far out beliefs. And she knew there was absolutely no legitimate reason to feel that way; she may have only known Denny a week but already she gathered he was the type of friend that she would come across very few times in her life. But too many times in her past she'd heard the No's, seen the scoffs and smirks whenever she blindly opened her mouth with whatever daydream or ambition was weighing on her, that she'd taken to censoring herself out of habit.

"Because why should I keep fishin' if I'm not fishing _for_ something? I know you're not here jus' to grow some veggies and raise some animals, right?" Chelsea didn't answer; she didn't have one. Denny's observation had kicked up a fresh wave of things to ponder over while she toiled over her farm. He continued, noticing her blank expression. "Look, I love fishing, I'd do it all day even if it didn't earn me _any_ cash. But I'd like to think I'm really doing somethin'. My..." his eyes left Chelsea's and he turned his head slightly to stare off into space. "My mom an' dad would always talk about the King Fish, too."

Chelsea squeezed Denny's arm gently. He'd lost his parents when he was younger and it must have taken a lot for him to even mention them. She pointedly disregarded the part about his parents and finally replied to him.

"I think there _is_ a reason I'm here other than to be a farmer. That's what's _scary_." Popper warbled weakly and nudged against Denny's cheek, turning his owner's head back towards Chelsea.

"What makes you think that?"

"I-" she paused, feeling truly horrible for what she was about to say, but she didn't want to talk about it until she had more answers. It'd be silly to bring Denny into all this when it could very well be nothing. "I can't tell you right now." She stopped again, confused that Denny didn't react negatively, and went on. "It's not that I don't trust you, I-"

"Chels, it's cool. Y'don't have to tell me anythin' you don't want to. Don't sweat it." His face lit up with a broad smile, which drew one out from Chelsea herself. "Geez, I think you worry too much what everyone thinks. _Seriously_."

Popper whistled in a strange way, and Chelsea giggled. "What'd he say?"

"He says he hopes you change your mind and decide to share your thoughts with the rest of the class."

"He said all that?" She laughed out.

"Yeah, that, an' that you got somethin' on your shirt."

"What?" Chelsea glanced downwards and Denny flicked his forefinger right up against her nose, laughing uproariously at her gullibility as Popper peeped happily along.

As it turned out, something did change her mind. Or, some_one_.

It started the very next day, the beginning of her second week. Chelsea had _finally_ scraped up enough G to buy a fishing pole, and her first harvest of potatoes would be ready the next day, so she would only be broke for less than 24 hours. She elbowed the door open, digging through her rucksack as she did, recounting out the 5,000 G she needed.

She was at 3,950 when a frightened squeak from beneath her boot sent her stumbling backwards.

"Th-that really hurts!"

Chelsea searched frantically in every direction. No, it was just in her head, there was absolutely no one for yards and yards.

The mystery voice was still timid, but louder. "Can you do me a huge favor and step back a little!"

Chelsea did as was asked of her, watching her own feet as she took a long stride back.

She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. There was a little red..._person_ right where her foot had been seconds ago. She squinched her eyes closed and opened them again, but he..she...it was still there, with a tiny hand to a tiny chest, gasping for air.

"I-I thought I'd hide to surprise you, b-but..." Chelsea couldn't tell if the red person was still breathless or just shy. "But I hid so well you stepped on me!"

Chelsea smiled involuntarily. It was _cute, _with pointy ears and a felt red hat with a itsy little pompom on it. She crouched down in front of it, the blades of grass tickling her exposed knees. Her voice grew as mild as the red person's. "H-hello. I'm-"

"Chelsea? The new rancher?" the red person filled in. Chelsea nodded dumbly. "Nice to meet you, Chelsea! I'm Coral, a Harvest Sprite! I hope we can be friends!"

Chelsea laughed in relief. If only making friends were always this easy, with just the simple mutual _want_ being enough to strike a relationship. She sat back on her knees, and something clicked in her mind. _Harvest_ Sprite? Did that have anything to do with the Harvest Goddess? Everyone knew about the Harvest Goddess, whether they believed or not, but no one had ever mentioned Harvest _Sprites_. And why were they talking to her, and...

"Um, Coral? If you don't mind me asking, how did you know my name?"

Coral bobbed up on his feet, as if to make himself as grand as his forthcoming answer. "Because you're a neighbor to Harvest Sprite Island!" He exclaimed, then stuffed both hands to his mouth to stifle some giggles. "Usually Harvest Sprite Island is hidden by magic. But we know all about you, Chelsea, we're very interested in you! That's why we've decided to let you come to our island! There's a bridge on the west side of your ranch, you can visit us whenever you'd like!"

"Is now okay?" Chelsea asked, the prospect of the fishing rod leaving her mind entirely.

Coral nodded emphatically and leaped up into the air with a twirl, shining as if there were ten suns on him. "Of course, of course! Just let me go ahead and gather the others!" And with that he zipped off so fast that Chelsea swore he simply vanished.

She raced to the other side of her ranch, and over the newly-built bridge, which looked like it were constructed out of enormous lily pads. On the other side was Coral and other Sprites, all different colors than Coral.

Coral zoomed over to her and led her back to the gathering of Sprites, informing her that they had just been talking about her.

He introduced her to his fellow Sprites. There were six others, each one of the colors of the rainbow. Though they all had small, non-threatening voices, that was where the similarities ended, some of the Sprites much more proud or forceful than the other.

They all agreed that first and foremost they would help Chelsea in any way possible, using their charms to her benefit in not just ranching, but anything involving the Islands' well-being, though they'd need a proper amount of rest before doing so again.

"Chelsea, where would you like us to begin?" Coral hopped about, waving his arms wildly.

"O-oh, well, yeah, I'd _like_ you to help, but..." She tilted her head thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip. "Only, I wouldn't know where to start. You wouldn't mind if I talked to my friend first about it, and ask him what he-"

"No!" Coral brought both hands to his mouth with a sharp gasp. "You...you mustn't tell anyone about us, Chelsea!"

"But..."

"Chelsea, do you know _why_ the Islands sank so many years ago?" Coral's fingers were curled into small fists, trembling by his mouth.

"It was an earthquake, a huge one," she parroted what Taro had told her.

"Yes. And no." Coral sighed wistfully. "The Islands were so successful because _we_ helped them! Us Sprites and the Islanders worked hand-in-hand on everything! The Goddess, she lived on one of the Islands, and she was so benevolent. Everyone turned to her for wisdom, for guidance. But one day..." his voice faded to a nearly inaudible level, and all Chelsea heard was "stopped."

"Stopped what?" She sat down beside him and let him climb up onto her thigh. He crossed his legs and leaned back into her stomach as he continued.

"_Believing_, Chelsea. Harvest Sprites can only do their very best if they're helping those who believe in them and the Goddess. There was a terrible, an _awful_ blizzard, so many animals and buildings were lost, and the Spring growing season didn't start right away. People lost money, businesses, had to sell their belongings. And they all blamed the Harvest Goddess for not coming to their rescue."

Chelsea stroked Coral's hat between her thumb and forefinger. Did Taro know about all this, and conveniently omit it so as not to scare her away? Or did even he not know? Coral didn't have to finish the story for Chelsea to fill in the blanks; she could tell it was difficult for him to trudge through.

"And she made them pay?"

"Oh, don't say it like that, Chelsea! Not at all like that! She _wanted_ to help them rebuild, she wanted to see them happy again, thriving! But they just...strayed. Eventually everyone left the Islands, _that's_ when the earthquake hit. The Harvest Goddess was so hurt! Hurt so much she couldn't even bear to see the Islands so empty and lonely. The only solution she had was to bury the Islands and then one day, in the far far future, start over."

Chelsea had never thought of the Harvest Goddess as an actual person, with emotions and habits just like her and everyone else. Her heart tightened hearing Coral describe the Harvest Goddess's strive for perfection, something she was all too familiar with herself.

"But you, Chelsea! That day is here again! The Harvest Goddess is interested in _you_...even us Sprites don't know exactly why, but she has her reasons. I'm sure you'll find that out along the way!"

"Coral, I don't know if..."

"You can do it, Chelsea! I promise we'll help you!" And he was so earnest, so optimistic, that Chelsea didn't contest him.

"Are you sure I can't tell D-...my friend about you? I'm sure he'd want to help, too." Chelsea laid down gradually onto her back, arms fanned out as though she were making a grass angel. Coral mimicked her, his tiny arms barely stretching the span of her small torso.

"Oh, you _could_, Chelsea. Only...the Harvest Goddess wants to make sure she succeeds this time, so your friend might not be able to see us, anyway."

"What do you mean?" She asked up into the breeze.

"We can only be seen if _you_ want the person to see us, _and_ if they too truly believe in the resurrection of the Islands."

"Why..why wouldn't they?"

"You'd be surprised, Chelsea, how selfish people can be. That is part of the reason the Harvest Goddess chose you, I can see it already. You're self_less _and you believe! But, as I was saying, if someone knows about us and doesn't believe, we lose some of our effectiveness. Too little faith and the Islands could fall back into ruin again, just as they were, as if we'd never returned. It would become obvious that we would not be wanted or needed."

It was so farfetched that it made perfect sense to Chelsea. She didn't respond to Coral, only closed her eyes for several moments, letting the wind skate over her.

Coral sat up and crawled closer towards Chelsea's face. "Chelsea, do you have any more questions? Are you alright?"

She winked open one eye, then the other. "Oh, oh, sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what, Chelsea?"

Her lips curved into a smile. "Well, you _did_ say you wanted to help me..." She paused pointedly as Coral nodded furiously, and began rattling off a regular laundry list of all the things around the Island she wished she had assistance with, but was too proud to ask for. Each request in turn sprouted a new one. Coral listened intently, only reassuring her every so often when her voice would trail off with doubt.

The rest of the day was a blur. It was near evening when she left Harvest Sprite Island, the overabundance of information - incredible, unbelievable yet somehow completely logical information- threatening to spill to the first person she ran into, but she knew Coral didn't want her to be careless about getting other Islanders involved, and as she circled the perimeter of her farm, it started to make more sense past just the thrill of keeping a secret. Wouldn't it feel almost _fake_ if everyone knew about the Harvest Sprites aiding her? That she was simply their pawn, that _any_ one could be in her place, and they'd be even less inclined to involve themselves in her venture to restore the Islands? After all, people were, are, and always would be self-serving, especially in an environment where lives could be upended so swiftly, for better or for worse. Despite what Coral had said, about the Harvest Goddess being interested in her specifically, Chelsea's brain still fought with her over that notion.

_Maybe they just got sick and tired of all the other ranchers coming and going. Maybe the Harvest Goddess decided that whoever the rancher was on _this _day_ _of _this _year_ _would be the "Chosen One"._

__

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

The next morning, Chelsea awoke even earlier than normal, bristling with anticipation. She would find out if yesterday was real, or just a ridiculously involved and complex figment of her imagination. And as much more frightening the former was, it was what she longed for. She tried not to rush through her dailies, but she gathered her ripened crops hastily, not even bothering to plant a new batch before hurrying to Sprout Island. She'd forgotten that yesterday had been Sunday, so she wouldn't have been able to buy a fishing pole anyway, since Gannon's shop wasn't open. As she jogged up to the door of the carpenter's house, it flew open with a great _wham! _ and there was Denny. In his left hand was his battered old fishing rod, and in his right was a sturdy new one; the very same one she'd seen for sale in Gannon's shop.

"Jus' cuz I can fix things doesn't mean ya should go breakin' everything in sight!" she heard Gannon bellow from inside the shop.

Denny's cheeks tinged pink as he smiled sheepishly, picking up a rusty bolt that had fallen from the door jamb when he swung it open. He reached in the shop and neatly placed it on a shelf, before waving apologetically to Gannon and slinking back out to the porch. He acted as if Chelsea had not just witnessed his transgression, greeting her with a Cheshire Cat smile, that even on someone as cheerful as Denny looked affected.

"Isn't it a bit early to be wrecking other people's property, Denny?" Chelsea crossed her arms, eyebrow quirked.

"Hey, I was only..._testing_ the strength of the door, that's all!"

"Vandal! Vandal!" Popper chirped.

"Hey! Why, I oughta..." Denny rolled his shoulder, trying to shake Popper, but the bird only cooed with delight, bobbing up and down like a feathery buoy.

Chelsea hid a snicker behind her palm before reaching toward the rod in Denny's right hand. "Whatcha got there?"

"_Oh_, dude! You won't believe it!" He thrust the new rod into her open hand. "I stopped by first thing this morning to see if Gannon would fix that leak in my roof and guess what? It was on sale!"

The last sentence hit Chelsea like a bucket of cold water, and she gasped much more loudly than she should have over a statement filled with nothing but the ordinary joy of finding a wanted item on sale. And one of the biggest things Chelsea had mentioned to Coral was that despite Gannon, and Chen and Mirabelle's fair prices, she wished there was some way that every so often, just for maybe _one _specific item, they'd lower the price. Of course, she didn't want a pity discount, so she never even attempted haggling with them, but sometimes she needed something immediately and only 10 G could make the difference.

"What, that's good! Isn't it, Chels?" He held out his now-free hand expectantly. "I'm not made of dough though, ya gotta pay me back."

"No, that's not..." She scrambled to the window and peered inside. At the top of a pyramid of lumber stood Matcha, the green Harvest Sprite she met yesterday, rocking back and forth on his toes.

She didn't even rub her eyes, to try to convince herself that it was an illusion. A hushed "_oh_" was the only reaction she could muster, the esoteric nature of the Sprites nearly lost on her with how commonplace the unusual had become on the Islands

Denny squeezed in beside her, and Chelsea turned to him. "Remember you...or, _Popper_, hoped I'd change my mind and tell you what I was gonna say yesterday?" She dug her wallet out of her rucksack and counted out the money she owed Denny for the fishing pole.

"Hey, it was on sale, you don't owe me the whole five thou-"

"Denny. Just...don't worry about it right now." She took him by the arm and led him off the porch towards the currently deserted beach. "I need to tell you something."

So she did. She told him everything as they marched through the sand to the dock by Denny's house, and as she made her first cast into the ocean. She repeated everything she'd already told Coral, about needing help with her crops, with animals when she finally obtained them, with everything, and about the "Rules" Coral had laid out about believing. To her pleasant surprise, Denny didn't try to get a word in edgewise, mostly just helped her bait her hooks and gave her pointers as to where to cast her line next. But Chelsea knew he was listening.

The sun was past midpoint in the sky when Denny suggested they break for lunch, and he accompanied her on the way back to her ranch, toting a string of fresh fish with him. She figured his silence was an attempt at politeness, but it unnerved her that he wasn't supplying his typical witty remarks.

"What're you thinking?" She touched his shoulder as they arrived at her door.

"Well," Denny paused, not unsure, but with the effort of giving a serious answer slowing him down. "What I think shouldn't matter, Chels. I guess, you're putting way too much pressure on yourself way too early, here. Just go with the flow. The Sprites said they'd help you where they could, and it sounds like you don't have to do much except believe they're gonna do that, and it'll take care of itself. I know some people take this Harvest Goddess stuff seriously, an' I'm not sayin' I don't, or that you shouldn't, but there's no use in _worryin'_ about it so much. Give yourself a little more credit, you're kickin' ass here as a farmer so far, right? I mean, it's not an easy job, but you make it look that way. Why's this Island thing any different?"

Chelsea's heart swelled with pride. She set her fishing rod against the door and looped her arms around Denny's non-fish-laden one, hugging it tight.

She parted from him, and retrieved her rod, her words void of the distress that had coated so much of her conversation earlier that day. "It's all so weird!..." She sighed out as she entered her house, Denny behind her with fish in tow.

"Yeah, 'course it is. But jus' 'cause it's weird doesn't mean it's _bad_, Chels. Y'know, kinda like me!" He grinned cheekily and began separating the fish into even numbers.

Chelsea laughed airily and prevented him from counting out any more fish. "Keep them all. Cook up a nice meal for Lanna or somethin', please?"

"Oh, I was jus' gonna give you this one to hang on your wall!" He extracted a tiny Icefish from the group. "Like makin' your first dollar!"

"Yeah, my first dollar wouldn't stink up the whole house smelling like fish guts!" Chelsea giggled. "Seriously, _keep it!_" She yawned unintentionally and stretched her arms up high. "Gosh, I'm a lot more tired than I thought..."

"Okay, fine fine." Denny rolled his eyes, defeated. "Hey, jus' swear that if something else comes up about this, the Sprites or whatever, you'll tell me, okay? It's pretty cool, I wonder if they could help me catch the King Fish, if they help you with your ranch and everything."

"Of course I will. I don't think there'll be much else to tell you, but I definitely will."

Denny bade Chelsea goodnight, and she drifted off as soon as her head hit the pillow, boots still on her feet, bandana snug on her head. She woke up the following morning to Taro pounding on her door, to discover just how wrong she'd been.

* * *

_Yeah, this chapter was actually supposed to be even longer, but it got **too** long so I had to split it into two parts! Next chapter will feature a POV other than Chelsea's, oooh, any guesses? :P Thankfully I'm nearly done with that, so it should (read: **should**) be up before too long. Please review, and thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, too! _


	4. Warning

_Yay, see, told you I'd update soon! :) Well, this chapter was fun for me to write. Mostly because Vaughn makes me lol and all. But anyway, enjoy._

All day he had to hear about it. _All damn day. _Islands talking. _Talking_. Not that he _tried_ to pay attention to whatever anyone had to say; very few people on the Islands were what he considered respectable enough for him to hold their opinion in any esteem, and the ones he did respect, were terribly uninteresting anyway. But wherever Vaughn found himself on the Islands that day, from Nick's Diner to the Sprout Island beach, the topic of that morning's events, of their resurrection, crept up from whoever was in the vicinity, and Vaughn would quickly made himself scarce, avoiding the chance for anyone to ask him what he thought about it.

And all damn day he kept his mouth _shut_, refusing to get involved with something that, after so many years, he had _finally_ put to rest in the deep recesses of his mind: this mystical _crap_. This had to be life screwing with him; things had been going pretty smooth lately, after all. He'd been working on the Sunshine Islands for the past year without incident. He was due.

Most Tuesdays he went to bed fairly early, given that he had to leave before dawn on Wednesdays. But his mind would not switch off, trying to dissect that heap of information and more-than-likely, _mis_information he'd overheard that day. That, and Julia's loud voice carrying her conversation with Mirabelle (about the Islands _of course_), through the floorboards of his room, which sat directly above the kitchen. Finally giving up on tossing and turning, he escaped down the stairs that connected his room to the back porch, then crossed the bridge to Sprout Island, to Halia's

The café was empty, which it seldom was, but that couldn't have contented Vaughn any more. Knowing he couldn't just sit there for hours and not order anything, he opted for piece of toast to snack on, even though the last thing he was right now was hungry.

Though he wasn't the sort to just throw his hard-earned cash around on food, Vaughn figured Halia probably wasn't receiving much business, with this Spring having nothing short of perfect, weather-wise. He sympathized with the difficulty of maintaining an individual or small business; you never knew when something unexpected could take a devastating financial toll on a place. And because of that foresight, he made sure that Halia always had at least one patron every Monday and Tuesday. He wasn't much for sayings, but there was the one "every little bit helps", and he thoroughly believed that, at least in the monetary sense.

He angled his chair towards the wall, reading the random notices on the bulletin board that was there. Then, with toast halfway to his mouth, ready to take a huge bite…

"HOLD IT!"

Vaughn dropped his toast, crumbs dribbling all over his shirt. An unfamiliar hand snatched the toast up from where it lay on his chest. "What do you think you're _doing_?"

Normally Vaughn would've answered this question with something involving his fist, but he was too discombobulated at the moment to give any sort of response, as he'd just been screamed at over a piece of toast. The hand that held the toast belonged to a man - or, at least Vaughn thought he was a man, though his large sparkling eyes and boyish haircut gave off the impression that he could very well be a teenager.

"You can't eat that!" The guy waved about the offending slice, more crumbs sprinkling all over the table, and on his obnoxiously gaudy purple outfit.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Vaughn kept his voice low, eyes panning up to meet those of the toast-snatcher.

"It's so _boring_! Just a minute!" The thief dashed over to the counter with the toast, barking at Halia to give him something. Vaughn heard her say "Pierre." Oh, right, the Gourmet? He knew one of them was running around somewhere on the Islands.

Pierre returned with a canister in one hand, shaking what was in all over the toast, and slid the plate back to him. "Here, try it now!"

All Vaughn wanted to try was grabbing this guy by the collar and throwing him out the door. But after a moment's consideration, he concluded all the Gourmet was doing was essentially the same thing Vaughn himself did to Julia and even Mirabelle when it came to animals: butting in when he knew better (which was so often).

So Vaughn just grumbled out a "No" and when that answer didn't seem to suffice, he continued, voice clearer. "I like it plain."

"But that's so _boring_!" Pierre repeated, as though "boring" were the most insulting word there was.

"I'm a boring kind of guy." The toast lay on its plate, untouched. "Go on, you ruined it. Take it now, know you want to." He swatted his palm down on the cash that Pierre had laid out for his own meal and dragged it towards himself, pocketing it. "I wasn't that hungry anyway."

Pierre's eyes widened slightly, with the understanding he'd just unintentionally bought his dinner from Vaughn. But he took it upon himself to cover the toast with _more_ of what was in the canister (chocolate malt, the container read) and eat it, deep in thought as he did so, or maybe just too intimidated to let his eyes meet Vaughn's.

When he finished Vaughn's toast, he began jabbering about how even "plain" foods could be delicious if paired with each other and something something something...

Vaughn didn't care one iota about what Pierre was saying (Pierre likely recognized this and didn't care about that point himself, so enthusiastic about his passion for cooking), but at least he was educated about what he was talking about, and not just running his mouth like so many other people on the Islands. And it wasn't _about_ the Islands, either. So he sat there, reading the advertisements on the placemats as Pierre yammered on.

The door creaked open, cutting into Pierre's monologue. It was cruel, just when Vaughn had been thankful that he was able to hide away from all the chatter of the Islands, in stepped the person at the center of it all.

Chelsea. And by her side, unsurprisingly, was Denny. He didn't like the fisherman one bit. Though he tried to check himself from feeling too strongly about any specific person one way or the other, Denny's brash personality, with too much talk and not enough thought or action, mixed with a general _c'est la vie_ attitude towards life annoyed him like very few other things could.

The two wandered over to Pierre, and Chelsea presented to him a decent-sized fish, "freshly-caught", she said. No one acknowledged Vaughn at all until...

"Hey, Vaughn." Chelsea's voice rang out, as Pierre stood up from the table, ready to take off with his gift. Vaughn touched the brim of his hat, addressing Chelsea's greeting, but remained otherwise indifferent to her presence.

"Geez, man, you ever _talk?_" Denny laughed out.

"Nah. You ever shut up?" Vaughn's lips barely moved but the bite in his words was prominent.

Denny's face paled, rendered into rare speechlessness. Vaughn heard him finally mutter something vague to Chelsea about not being welcome there, and the dynamic duo seated themselves at the table on the other side of the cafe.

Pierre thanked Chelsea again for the fish, and before exiting the café (and the awkwardness that had erupted within), he challenged Vaughn to stop being so picky about his food selection. He might like something new if he just tried it! Vaughn ignored him, and Pierre strode out the door, much too happy about his fish.

Halia offered up what was left of the evening's coffee for free to the three remaining customers. Vaughn stood by the counter, stirring some ice cubes into his scalding-hot drink when something made his ears prick up.

"...don't have any _reason _to believe in the Harvest Goddess, Denny!"

True, the last thing he wanted to hear that night was more about the Islands. But this was the first time anyone had said anything about the Harvest Goddess. This was worse than he previously thought. With all the talk of supposed magic regarding the Islands being raised, it never dawned on him that the Harvest Goddess would be brought up. Then again, she wasn't real, so why _should_ she?

The sudden urge came over him to never come back once he left tomorrow, a sense of dread lodging itself deep inside him. But he had this job, he _needed_ this job, the money. And he even _liked_ it most of the time, being in his element around animals and not-so-much people. It would be foolish to throw it away on a whim that wasn't even his, but that of a green farmer and the silly things she knew nothing about.

Denny and Chelsea continued talking on-and-off about the Harvest Goddess, though Vaughn was able to only catch small fragments of what was being said. When the clock struck 11, Denny all but jumped from his chair, and its legs made an awful scraping noise against the floor that shattered the mellow atmosphere.

"Oh geez, Chels. I'm sorry, I gotta go, I'm late." His eyes darted every where but on Chelsea, sounding truly sorry about his rather graceless departure. "I promised Lanna I'd meet up with her tonight and you know how she gets..."

Chelsea frowned but nodded wordlessly as she took Denny's coffee mug from him, and he nearly tripped over his own feet on his way out the door.

Vaughn laughed through his nose. Denny couldn't be any more whipped by Lanna if he _tried_. It was pathetic, but hilariously so.

Chelsea sighed and finished off the rest of her and Denny's coffee, and gathered her belongings. Vaughn did the same, and Halia switched off the main lights of the building, leaving it illuminated only by the glow of the outside floodlights. She normally closed up at midnight but Vaughn knew business wasn't exactly booming, and she had to save whenever possible. And she was being generous; if Vaughn were in her position, he would have kicked himself and Denny and Chelsea out an hour ago to close up.

Vaughn reached the door just before Chelsea, and held it open for her.

"_Oh_, uh..." Chelsea breathed out, positively astonished that he would do such a thing. Nonetheless, she gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you!"

"Wait." He sidestepped into the doorway, completely blocking her way, and she did just that. "S'dark out there, lemme walk you back."

"Thanks, but it's only like ten minutes. I'll be okay." She buttoned her orange shirt up to shield herself from the \ wind that had burst in with the door being opened.

"I just don't feel right lettin' a lady out there alone at this time of night, guess Denny doesn't seem to think anythin' of it though. 'Least let me walk you to the shop." Even with Denny _not_ there, he'd managed to do something that irritated Vaughn. Vaughn had seen the wild dogs that patrolled the woods near the Ranch Island bridge, but Chelsea probably hadn't. He hated to have to cover for Denny's neglect, but he certainly wasn't going to be party to it.

"Why d'you-" she protested, but Vaughn took hold of her upper arm and gave her a healthy push in the direction of the bridge.

"Because I'm such a nice fuckin' guy, now get movin'."

To his surprise, she didn't take offense to his remark; most people usually did, unable to see his dry sense of humor through a no-nonsense demeanor. But Chelsea actually complied to his request. "Alright, Mr. Nice Guy," she laughed, _laughed_, before walking several steps ahead of him, towards Verdure Island.

The trek to Mirabelle's only took a few minutes time, and was done in silence. Chelsea easily kept up with his long gait without tiring. Vaughn was mildly surprised, having expected her to whine about how tired she was, at this hour.

"I can take it from here. Thanks." Chelsea waved loosely at Vaughn, and continued on her way as he stood by the porch of Mirabelle's shop.

Then it occurred to him. He wouldn't be here until next week, and by then, who knew what sort of trouble the Islands would be in, if Chelsea decided to forgo her ranching duties in lieu of this stupid pet project of hers and Denny's. He didn't want to arrive next week only to be told to turn right around; that he was out of a job because the Islands were floundering. It'd gotten close to that point a few times before, with the previous ranchers and he'd wasted precious days traveling back to his other ports. And time was money.

"Chelsea?"

"Yes?" She turned towards him but kept walking, tiny steps backwards.

"I know it ain't none of my business, but what you an' Denny were talkin' about..."

"The...the _Islands_?" She stopped in her tracks, and returned to where she had been, under the spotlights, only several inches away from Vaughn. Oh, now she'd think he wanted to _talk_ about it. He cleared his throat, doing his best to sound mostly ignorant to the issue.

"Yeah, that. You really believe in all that, 'bout them bein' resurrected and the Harvest Goddess and all that other crap?"

"I. I don't know," she answered, sincere in her uncertainty. He hadn't quite expected her to be so honest, so candid. With the way she took to Denny, he presumed she would be much more like him: reckless, hot-headed, just generally idiotic, ready to attach to any cause she could. The girl might actually have some sense about her.

"Why?" She tilted her head, studying Vaughn as though the answer was written somewhere on his face. "Do _you _believe in it?"

"No." Chelsea had barely finished asking the question before Vaughn gave his answer. _No. Always no._

He braced himself for the inevitable next question.

"How do you know about it, then, about the Islands?" _That_ wasn't the question he'd been preparing for. In fact, Chelsea didn't seem all that interested in his "no", quite the opposite.

"You hear about everything when you're around Julia and Mirabelle all day," he half-lied. Of course, the two had been gabbing away about it all day, and he'd overheard some of it. So it was believeable that that was where he'd received his information, although he hadn't heard anything from them that he didn't already know. "'Bout how the Islands are talkin', somethin' like that. That you're gonna go runnin' off trying to restore them. Personally, I think you're draggin' everyone into a huge mess if you're gonna waste your time with something that's so...y'know, unclear."

"Is that why you walked me home? I mean, other than the fact that you're _such_ the gentleman, that is." She gave him a sly smile before clasping her hands together, pitch of her voice rising. "To warn lil' ol' me about the big scary dangerous island?" Her voice returned to normal, but had an edge of defiance in it. "Trust me, I'm not doing this alone. I'm not _stupid_."

_Not stupid_, he agreed in thought. _Just unaware about potential consequences._

"No. Look, I know it _sounds_ like a great idea, savin' the Islands an' all that, but make sure you _can_ do it before you set off tryin'a play hero. Make sure it's worth it, in case you fail."

"Fail?"

The words stalled in his throat. He couldn't, he _wouldn't_, divulge just how much of this he'd heard before, especially with Chelsea herself barely dedicated to the effort. He was well aware he was probably making her uncomfortable, schilling out unsolicited advice after having ragged on her fishing buddy and questioning her ability to fend for herself, after never having spoke to her past a simple introduction. He was uncomfortable himself, because he didn't really want to talk to her, _hadn't_ ever talked to anyone at this length in a while, and hadn't even thought through, exactly, what he wanted to say regarding the subject. Only that _someone _needed to plant a seed of sanity in her head before she ran the Islands into the ground, too preoccupied by flights of fancy to fulfill her promise of ranching.

"Chelsea. I ain't tryin'a _stop _you, I'm only saying. It might be best for you to just worry 'bout your ranch. You're wastin' your time if you're expectin' the Harvest Goddess to come help. She's not real, it's all a buncha stories."

She huffed, her cheeks puffed out in frustration. "But I still don't know what you mean by 'fail', there's no - "

"Then maybe you shouldn't be gettin' yourself _involved_!" he all but snapped. "Y'think it's all fun an' games, you and Denny playin' save the Islands, but-"

"I _don't_ think it's a game!" She stomped her foot down angrily, her brown hair swishing in front of her eyes. "Why are _you_ so concerned about all this, you're only here a few days a week! What do the Islands matter to you?"

He wanted to finish his sentence. _But people are gonna get hurt_ _if (when) you fail_. And by "people" he meant himself. The other Islanders too, sure, but they didn't seem too bothered by this, either too damn nice or too damn _stupid_ to say anything. So screw them.

"They don't. It doesn't. Just forget about it."

"Yeah, I was plannin' on it. " She abruptly turned on her heel and walked away.

Whatever.

He waited until after she rounded the corner by Chen's to slip inside Mirabelle's shop. Julia was behind the register, fast asleep in the chair, arms crossed flat on the counter with her head resting on them. Beside her lay an open book, the left-hand page plainly showing an illustration of the Sunshine Islands all those years ago, pre-earthquake. Here he'd thought all the talk that day was Julia being Julia, gossip gossip gossip until she was blue in the face, but she must truly be invested in it if she was _reading_ up on it.

Vaughn gingerly flipped to the front of the book, knowing it couldn't possibly belong to Julia. Curlicue letters denoted that the book was the property of a "Sabrina".

The muscles in his hand tightened as it took everything in him not to slam the book shut. Who _were_ these people thinking that books, that the voices in their head, that the fables relayed to them would do anything to save them? Idiots. The truth would be revealed soon enough, and their lives would be thrown into upheaval because they were stupid enough to think they could make something out of nothing. And he would drift along on limited means, but at least he would be living _honestly. _

Chelsea's question hung over him as he flopped down into bed, exhaustion finally catching up to him. What _did_ the Islands matter to him?

More than he would've liked them too, that's for sure. But he resolved to nip that growing concern in the bud. Concern only led to disappointment and as his eyes grew heavy and he fell into sleep, he replaced her question with the answer he'd given her, what'd he'd have to keep repeating if he wanted to avoid such complications.

Just forget about it.

_As always, thanks for reading, and please review! :) As much as I love this chapter, I can't wait to write the next one, but I have so many ideas that I don't even know what exactly's gonna happen, hah! Plus I finally started playing Tree of Tranquility...hmm, perhaps I shall try my hand at a fic there. :3_


	5. Cake

"But that's not _fair_!"

Denny looked up from the display of lures he'd been examining to see Charlie behind the counter, arms crossed at his chest, chin up in defiance while facing away from his pop, Chen.

"Charlie, it's plenty fair. Shoving your toys and clothes into a pile under your bed does not mean you 'cleaned them up'. I said you could only go to Eliza's tonight if you _cleaned_ your room." Chen responded to his son firmly while counting the till of money. Denny chuckled to himself; Charlie probably thought he was innovative, the first to pull such an act. But Denny remembered fondly how many times he'd attempted to get away with such stunts with his own parents. And just like Charlie, he rarely succeeded.

Charlie groaned and stamped petulantly at the floor. "But Daaaaa_aaaaaa_aaaad!"

"No 'buts', Charlie! I gave you more than enough time to get it done!" Chen pushed the register drawer closed and glanced in Denny's direction, smiling apologetically.

Charlie followed his dad into their living area, then back out to the shop, grousing the whole time to no avail. He turned his head, his large eyes catching Denny's, and tugged on his dad's shirt with a grin and a new approach. "But _Denny_ always goes over to Lanna's house and _he_ doesn't hafta clean _his_ room!"

"Charlie, for the last time!" Chen's voice rose, losing its calm quality, and Denny quickly intervened. Charlie had grown close to Denny over the past year, with all the time he spent on the beach with Eliza, and with Denny dropping by the shop on a regular basis. The fisherman knew Charlie thought he was "super-cool" (which he didn't dispute one bit) and was therefore more apt to listen to him than to his dad.

"Yo, Charlie!" Denny strode over to the boy and crouched down beside him. "Whaddya say I help ya clean your room? We can make a game out of it!" Charlie looked between Denny, to Chen, and back again. "That is, if it's okay with your dad." He winked knowingly at Chen as Charlie scratched his fingers over Popper's back.

Chen softened at Denny's honest interest in trying to help his son. "If it'll finally get that disaster area known as your room clean, then Denny can help you..._and_ if it's decent enough, I suppose you can go play with Eliza later."

"Awesome!" Charlie bounded back into his room and dove under his bed, chucking out all the dirty laundry and toys that inhabited the area. Denny grimaced when he saw that Charlie's stash was getting big enough that the boy could open his own store. He looked to Chen for assistance, and the merchant just clapped Denny on the shoulder thankfully, giving him a nudge toward the bedroom.

Denny cautiously stepped around the piles of clothing that littered Charlie's floor, lest he be attacked by a sharp toy that was lying in wait under a shirt or pair of shorts. He picked up a couple shirts by Charlie's bed, and heaved them at the boy the way he would a basketball, smirking. Charlie caught the balled-up shirts, stumbling back a few steps, utterly perplexed.

"So you gonna put 'em away or not?" Denny positioned himself in front of the chest of drawers by Charlie's bed. Charlie still stared at Denny vacantly.

"Oh, well..." Denny sighed overdramatically. "Guess I'm gonna hafta tell Gannon how you can't even get your room clean in order to hang out with his lil' girl. Wonder how he's gonna take that?"

"Hey!" Charlie squawked. "Nuh-_uh_!" His little hands clenched into the handful of clothing he was holding, and he rushed towards Denny, attempting to dodge around him and stuff his clothes into the slightly-opened drawer. Denny tried (but not _too_ much) to prevent him from doing so, bracing his leg right in front of Charlie's drawer of choice, but Charlie managed to get by him and dunk his shirts into the chest.

And so it continued. Toy-by-toy, shirt-by-shirt, Denny would challenge the boy to pass by him in order to reach the drawers, the shelves, the closet. And each time Charlie would weave this way and that, and evade Denny long enough to get the job done.

Every time Charlie showed the slightest signal of resignation, Denny would taunt him with the promise of informing Gannon of such "wimpiness", lack of discipline. Denny knew that if anyone dared question the lengths that _he'd_ go for all things Lanna, that he'd have the same reaction as Charlie, right down to the "Nuh-uh!". The other motivating similarity that Denny was well aware of was the sheer relief, the joy that Charlie would get at the culmination of the obstacle course laid out before him, all for the girl he'd go to the ends of the Earth for (or perhaps in Charlie's case, to the edge of the Sprout Island pier).

The image flashed through Denny's mind of the past Summer, the day before a massive hurricane hit the Islands. The rain was pouring down in buckets, and while the winds weren't destructive at the time, they were vicious enough to lash Lanna's hairband from her head straight into the roaring sea. Denny spent the next several hours desparately trying to fish it out, despite Lanna begging with him not to risk his very life for it. But she'd worn it at her first ever concert, and Denny knew she viewed it as a security blanket of sorts; something familiar and comforting in a world rife with change. He finally retrieved it as night fell, and was soaked to the bone, but it didn't matter. Lanna threw her arms around his neck and sobbed over and over that she wouldn't know what she'd do if she lost him over a silly hairband. And when he replied that it wasn't silly, only because it was hers, she told him that she loved him.

The first time anyone had said that to him since his mom and dad. He damn near cried himself, Lanna's furious shower of kisses the only thing stopping him.

A strange object shoved in his face snapped him from his reverie. "Hey Denny, check it out, isn't it cool?"

Charlie hopped up and down energetically, brandishing what looked to be wooden bird on a base, one of the last items to be put away. It had a long dowel rod neck, and was fastened to the base by another rod that went straight through its round body, stabilized on either side by a piece of metal. At the other end of the base was what appeared to be a leftover plastic medicine cup, which was stained from some kind of liquid being in there at one time.

"Go on, go on, push 'im!" Charlie bit back a huge grin, informing Denny that he had _no idea _what fun awaited him if he just _pushed the bird_.

Denny tapped the bird's neck forward, and its red head bobbled up and down, up and down, in and out of the empty medicine cup.

"Gannon made it for me for my birthday last year!" Charlie stated proudly. Denny smiled, bemused. What better way to show approval of your daughter's young suitor than to handcraft him a dust-collector?

Then it hit him. Birthday.

_Birthday!  
_  
It was Chelsea's birthday!

Denny let out an expletive that made Charlie gasp loudly, and Popper started to repeat it, but Denny flicked the bird in the head. He explained to Charlie the gravity of the situation, and Charlie begrudgingly agreed to let his friend leave. The ridiculous puppy eyes the kid had going on were a tad too overwhelming for Denny to just _leave_, so...

"Here." Denny slipped off his shark tooth necklace and lowered over Charlie's head.

"Oh _cool_, you mean it? I can have it!" Charlie traced the edge of the tooth with his finger, completely in awe. Denny had already told him time and time again about how and when he caught the shark several years ago. About how he had his knee bitten (sixteen stitches!) and the shark's tooth lodged in the gash, but he caught the devil. Sure, there were parts about it that were _slightly_ embellished (it was eight feet, not eighty or sometimes a hundred), but Denny loved telling the tale, and the extreme reactions he got from Charlie, as much as the boy enjoyed hearing about it.

"No, but you can _borrow _it for tonight, you earned it. Y'know, you cleaned up every thing in this room by yourself, I didn't hafta pick up a single thing. Wasn't too hard, huh?" Charlie shrugged, not really hearing the question, far too absorbed in examining the necklace. Denny ruffled Charlie's hair roughly before tying his plaid purple shirt around his waist. "I'm sure ya can think of an interesting story to tell Eliza 'bout it, huh? Impress her and her pop even more, right? See ya 'round!"

He checked the clock in Chen's shop as he ran by. It was nearly 4:30. Chelsea was probably getting ready to eat dinner with Pierre or Felicia's family, so he had time to visit Lanna and convince her to join him tonight, talk him up, and Chelsea would remember his array of outstanding qualities and not his painfully glaring flaw of being so forgetful.

No more than ten minutes later, Denny was knocking on Lanna's door. She flung her arms around him as he picked her up by the waist, spinning her once and kissing her before setting her back on her feet. He loved the way her she somehow naturally smelled like the beach; even hours after they were away from the shore, eating dinner or taking a walk in the meadow, the sandy scent lingered on her hair, her shoulders, her hands.

She led him to her room, which was extremely _pink_, save for the concert posters and album covers of her friends in the music industry. Denny was able to tune the pinkness out, though, not paying to much in the room besides the girl, the bed, and of course, the rack of high-performance fishing poles that were displayed in the far corner of the room.

"Soooooo." Denny wrapped his arms around Lanna, who was now sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair in a bored sort of way. "I kind of need a favor."

"Ohmigosh, Denny, do you _really_ have to say it like that?" Lanna asked, lip curled in disgust.

"Hey! _That's_ not what I meant!" Popper was making a hissing noise that Denny assumed was the bird's version of a laugh. "Look, I know we go out to Nick's almost ever night, but, tonight's different. It's kinda...it's Chelsea's birthday, so I was gonna have drinks with her, and I was hopin' you'd come with."

Lanna didn't reply right away, running a flattened hand over the crown of her head.

"No, I don't _mind_, or anything," she sighed. "I just don't _know_ Chelsea all that well. Am I like, supposed to get her a present?"

Denny started playing with some stray hairpins that were laying on Lanna's dresser, voice lowering to a mumble. "Actually, I just need you to pretend like I spent all day goin' on about what _I_ was going to buy her, or the party I was gonna throw her if I had the money or somethin' like that. 'Cuz I uh...kinda _forgot_ that it was her birthday, an' I spent all day fishing and playing with Charlie."

"Denny, you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached!...not that that would make a difference one way or the other." She rapped playfully on his head. "Oooh, sounds hollow up there!" She giggled madly, and he couldn't help but crack a small smile as well, knowing it was a pretty accurate assessment at times.

He cuffed his hands around her wrists, steering her towards her closet. "Yeah, yeah, go get ready." He yanked a blouse from a hanger in her closet. It was a light leafy green, embellished with sequins, and most importantly, low-cut. "Here, this one looks really hot on you." She slowly took it from him, shaking her head, before picking out a pair of tight jeans from the dresser by her closet.

"Okay, shouldn't take long!" She sang out, as she walked past Denny and disappeared into the bathroom.

Denny knew that meant he had at least twenty minutes to wait. He crossed the room and fell back onto Lanna's bed, his legs hanging off the side. The spray of the shower from the bathroom was the only sound surrounding him, and he was seconds from falling into a cat nap when he saw something small but unmistakably a brilliant purple out of the corner of his eye. _Moving_.

He wandered over to where it was, on the top shelf of the fishing pole rack. As he got close he discovered that not only was it moving, but on it's own accord. It was alive. A tiny, elf-like, sparkley _person _just pacing back and forth precariously on the edge of the shelf.

A Harvest Sprite? It seemed like the only explanation, but this was crazy. Sure, Chelsea had explained all about the Harvest Sprites, about only those who believed in them could see them, but he didn't think they'd be just _out there_ like this. They were _supposed_ to show up when they were needed the most, when their magic was the only thing that could make or break a situation.

Denny reached his hand up and prodded at the little purple figure. It gasped loudly, blinking at him, then went back to meandering around the shelf. Denny tried to poke at it again. "Hey, dude, _who_ are you?"

"...And who are you?...Friend? A friend?" The Sprite studied him carefully, though it seemed tired, not wanting to make much conversation.

"I'm...uh..well, I'm a friend of Chelsea's, if that's what you mean. I guess I could be your friend too, yeah, sure."

The Sprite sighed. "It's so lonely here...and pink...too pink..." It had an attention span about as long as Charlie's, obviously.

"Then come over to my place! It's uh...well, it's just as empty but it's not as pink!" The Sprite sighed, unimpressed with Denny's suggestion. He tried a different approach. "I'm Denny, by the way." He extended two fingers up to the Sprite, who backed away momentarily. Then it returned the greeting, pressing a miniature palm to the fisherman's fingers. Denny couldn't see the Sprite's face clearly, but what could have been a smile appeared on its nearly indistinct mouth.

"Wisteria..."

The bathroom door swung open, and Lanna emerged in the outfit she'd picked out, her damp hair up in a messy bun. She pulled it out of the elastic it was in, and it tumbled down, framing her face and settling over her shoulders.

"Okay, I'm ready!~" She padded over in her bare feet, stepping into a pair of sandals and taking Denny by the hand. "C'mon, c'mon, I think I'm going to sing Chelsea 'Happy Birthday'!" Denny glanced back at the rack of fishing poles. The Harvest Sprite was gone, or was at least hiding. Had it even really been there to begin with?

He nodded wordlessly, relieved that she was somewhat more excited about going than she was twenty minutes ago, with the prospect of showcasing her talents a possibility. He wanted her and Chelsea to become friends, at least something more than just the acquaintances they were. And now that he'd had a run-in with the Harvest Sprites themselves, maybe Lanna could even share the experience with Chelsea and himself. He suddenly felt light-headed, that he was thinking about all this "sharing"-stuff-with-another-person so effortlessly. But Lanna's hand tightened around his as they walked across the bridge to Verdure Island, the setting sun splashing a palette of colors off the loose shiny waves that were her hair, and Denny's unease shifted into a contentment, satisfaction with the present, no matter how foggy the future was.

When Denny and Lanna arrived at Nick's, Chelsea was already seated with Pierre on the other side of the diner, the two of them devouring a huge cake that was covered in globs of chocolate buttercream.

Lanna pushed up onto the tips of her toes, cupping her hand by Denny's ear and whispering to him loudly. "Oooh, they're so _cute_!"

"Huh?" Denny eyed the two at the table. It _looked_ perfectly innocent enough; Pierre wanted to teach Chelsea how to cook, and she enjoyed being his taste-tester and having someone to be able to know the quality of her crops in a split-second glance.

"Uh, I dunno, Lanna. I think they're just friends. Chelsea's never really talked about him like _that, _at least not with me."

Lanna flipped her hair in a haughty manner. "_Well_, I see them together all the time, aren't they going out? Julia said that Felicia said that-"

"Yo, Chels, Pierre!" Denny shouted from across the diner. Chelsea and Pierre looked up simultaneously, both their mouths smeared with icing.

"Happy birthday, Chelsea!" Lanna gave her a gentle hug as they sat down in their chairs. "Sorry we couldn't be here sooner...not that we forgot or anything, _right_, Denny?"

Denny face-palmed with a groan. So much for subtlety. Chelsea, though, didn't seem to think anything of it, budging over to make room for Denny and Lanna to drag their chairs closer. It was then that Denny noticed the large, near-empty bottle of wine in the center of the table, which he had at first mistaken for a simple centerpiece. Chelsea's eyes did have a bit of a far-off gaze to them, her smile wobbly.

"Ooh, goody, birthday cake!" Lanna helped herself to a fingerful of buttercream, then tore the silverware from its napkin wrapping, digging right into the cake from the serving plate. "Ohmi_gosh_, this is delicious! And so _big_, it musta taken you forever to make this, Pierre!"

"Yes, I decided instead of two different cakes for my and Chelsea's birthdays to just make one great big one we could share with everyone!" Pierre beamed with pride, slicing off another piece and pouring two glasses of wine to finish off the bottle, one for Denny and one for Lanna.

"Pierre _says_ he's not as good at baking as he is at _cooking_." Chelsea waved her hand errantly and smacked Pierre's shoulder with the back of it, giggling. "You're such a liar, Pierre!" Oh, she had definitely been the one to drink the majority of the wine, though Pierre's sunny personality probably easily masked if he was feeling any effects as well.

"It's only hazelnuts and strawberry preserves!" Pierre ticked off on his fingers, oblivious to Chelsea's tipsiness. "It's nothing _that_ fancy!"

"Mmmm!" Lanna was practically drooling all over her piece of cake. "You'll have to make that for my birthday too, Pierre!"

Denny didn't care much for nuts but ate it slowly, letting Popper rest between him and Lanna and peck at the crumbs. "It does need _one_ thing though."

The other three all looked at him, confused.

"More wine!"

Denny flagged Nick over, and ordered another bottle of wine for the table, careful to keep it close to him, trying (and failing) to allow any more to be poured into Chelsea's glass. The night passed on, and Lanna serenaded Chelsea with a drawn-out version of "Happy Birthday", with Denny singing over her with his favorite variation of the tune ("you look like a monkey, and you smell like one too!"). The topics of the night drifted between Pierre's newest recipes, to the latest news in the world of Lanna's pop star friends. Denny hadn't thought that Lanna would want talk so readily about her "past life", as she called it, but then again she was only telling Pierre and Chelsea the high points, omitting all the negative parts that surely he only knew the details of. Her smile was even brighter than usual as she reminisced about how she'd been discovered, about writing her first song and going to movie premieres with celebrities, leaving Denny to wonder if she really _didn't_ miss her fame after all.

In contrast, Chelsea remained rather silent, hiding behind the rim of her wineglass. Maybe Pierre or Lanna took it as listening and not having anything to add to the conversation, but Denny knew there was something else nagging at her as she kept stealing meaningful glances in his direction. And he was dying to tell her about the Sprite he saw earlier in the afternoon.

As Lanna prattled on about how fishing had grown into her favorite hobby (a story Denny had heard hundreds of times), Chelsea's hand crept to the wine bottle that was cradled between Denny's arms. At the last second, his hand clapped down over hers.

"I don't think so, Chels. You've had enough tonight."

"_Hey!_" she sounded uncharacteristically whiny. "But...but I never got to celebrate my twenty-first birthday last year, I gotta make up for it tonight!"

"Uh, yeah, you've more than done that." Denny heard Pierre snicker and looked up at the chef, who was grinning crookedly, his eyelids heavy. "I think _everyone_ has, actually."

"Oh, Denny, don't be such a spoilsport!" Lanna scolded him, but hiccuped, confirming that she too was buzzed.

"Party! Party!" Popper agreed with Lanna, and hopped off the table into her lap. She laughed and scooped him up, giving him a light kiss on the top of the head.

Denny sighed. It would make much more sense if _he_ walked Lanna home, and Pierre saw that Chelsea made it back to her ranch, but he had to figure out what was _there_, beneath Chelsea's drunken state, that had kept her so guarded all night. Luckily, before he could form the right way to ask her, Pierre stepped in.

"Are you sure you're alright, Chelsea?" Pierre placed a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, as her chin drooped down onto her crossed arms on the table.

"Why don't you come home with me or Lanna?" Denny suggested, assuming she'd choose his place. "Know it's a little further but 'least you'll have someone to make sure y'don't like, puke all over yourself."

"Oh, that's charming, Denny." Lanna wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"No, 'm fine." Chelsea muttered into her arms.

But Denny stood up, grabbing hold of one of her arms, yanking her to her feet. She stumbled and would have faceplanted on the floor, if Denny hadn't had a firm grasp on her. "Yeah, I somehow doubt that."

"You _surprised_ me, that's all!" She fought, though with little effort, to get away from him.

A thick, awkward silence filled the air as Chelsea slumped against Denny, Lanna and Pierre occupying themselves by wrapping up the leftover cake. Denny could feel her shaking, hopefully just tired, not crying or anything. But it didn't matter. She was _gone_. He wanted to get her out of here before she did or said something she regretted.

"Thanks for the cake, dude." Denny closed his hand into a fist for Pierre to pound in return, but the chef smiled vacantly at Denny's gesture.

"My pleasure!" He handed the plate to Lanna, and rubbed Chelsea's back soothingly as Denny led her out the door. "Chelsea, you'll be okay. I can make you a super-healthy breakfast tomorrow to help you g-"

"Ugh, don't talk about food right now!" Chelsea moaned, pressing her face harder into Denny's chest.

Denny mouthed "sorry" to Pierre as they parted ways, the chef heading to his home across the lane. Lanna trailed behind Denny and Chelsea, with Popper perched on the serving plate, playing guard dog to the cake.

The trio arrived at Lanna's, and Denny briefly removed his arm from around Chelsea, stepping towards Lanna and leaning in for a kiss. His lips were met with thin air.

"What about her?" Lanna dodged Denny's advance and nodded at Chelsea.

"What _about_ her? I can't just let her go home alone, I'll let her chill at my place tonight." Chelsea stirred from her drunken stupor, groaning out something unintelligible.

"_Really_?" Lanna's eyes became slits.

"Uh, yeah. _Really_." Denny replied matter-of-factly.

"And why's that?" Denny had barely finished his sentence before Lanna spat the words out at him.

"Well, first of all, she's falling-down drunk, if you _haven't noticed_. Second, I gotta talk to her about somethin'."

"About what?"

"Just _something_, alright?" Denny almost shouted, and Chelsea whined about "too loud." If there was one thing that really irked him about Lanna it was her tendency to pry into things too much.

Lanna sniffed disapprovingly. "How do I know all you wanna do is _talk_, huh?"

"Yeah, that makes _perfect_ sense, Lanna. I'm gonna _tell_ you that I'm gonna take her back to my place an' cheat on you right before I do it. Yeah, whole lotta sense." Lanna just huffed, and for a moment Denny closed his eyes tight, afraid she was going to throw the cake plate at him. Instead, she stared off into the sky, realizing when he said it _that_ way it was silly that she'd been so accusatory.

Denny reached out and tilted her head up to his, ducking down to kiss her gently. She kissed him back, but it was rigid; she was still upset, mostly embarrassed with herself, her quick temper. He twirled a finger into a lock of her long hair, making a funny face at her. "Yer always mah girl!" he said in a deliberately goofy drawl. She finally broke, giggling as she gave him a quick kiss in return.

"Y'know, you can't _always_ just make me laugh and expect that to make everything all better!" Lanna wiggled her fingers flirtatiously at Denny as she opened the door, and extended an apology to Chelsea for reacting so rashly. Denny plucked Popper from the cake tray as the door shut, at the last second, the bird letting out a defeated whistling noise.

As he and Chelsea headed to his place, he turned his attention to his friend, who was walking ahead of him by several feet. She swept her feet through the sand as though she were on skis, her footprints creating elaborate arcs across the beach.

"You were pretty tired a couple minutes ago!" he called to her, amused at this carefree side he'd yet to witness.

"No wayyyy, I'm fine! " She yelled back at him, laughing as she stomped patterns into the sand. "I told you, I never celebrated my twenty-first birthday last year!"

"Excuses. You're just a lightweight."

She dashed back to Denny, swatting at him. "Oh, shut up. I can only imagine what _you_ were like on _your_ twenty-first birthday."

"Couldn't tell ya." He picked up a handful of sand and flung it in her direction, causing her to shriek as it made contact with her thigh.

"Oh, what, _that_ embarassing?" She removed her bandana, unknotting it and whipping it at him. Despite her state, Chelsea's laughter was genuine, full of mirth, and Denny was relieved, as he had feared the opposite only a short time ago. Though it was much more likely that she didn't even remember why she'd been so sullen in the first place.

"No, I mean, I really couldn't tell ya. Don't remember a second of it. Look, Chels, I need t-"

_Fump!  
_  
A clump of wet sand splotted all over Denny's arm.

"_Chels_, c'mon!" Denny chased Chelsea down as she fled from him, cackling childishly. After a few minutes he finally got a hold of her, hands firmly on either shoulder, the waves crashing up over their boots as the stood at the start of the pier. "Let's try this again. Now, what the hell have you been trying to tell me all night?"

"Huh, I don't know-"

"No, 'course you don't, you're a drunken mess." He sighed, knowing that would be her answer. "Look, whatever, forget that for now. You won't _believe_ what..._holy shit!_"

That's when he saw it. A _massive_ boat...or, yacht, really, docked directly beside his seaside shack, overtaking the entire horizon. It could eat his puny fishing dinghy for breakfast. Not even breakfast, more like a midnight snack.

"_Oh_." Chelsea noticed it too, but seemed far less impressed, as if she knew it'd been there all along.

"'Oh?' Lemme guess, _this_ was what you wanted to tell me about? What, ya got a boat now?"

"No, no, not exactly, but..." she sighed heavily, having great difficulty finding her words. He could almost _see _her going through everything in her head as she squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. "Sabrina, I went over to borrow some books from her, about the Islands and...well, one of them was this old volcano with this _mine_ in it. And her dad, that's why he came here, and...well, I don't know, the Sprites just _told_ me the other day that they had the power to resurface one of the Islands, so I asked them to and -"

"They just _told_ you, just like that?" Denny asked impatiently.

"They said something about how um...what's the word? Sufficient? Yeah, more sufficient the Islands become, they can bring others back. I didn't think I was doing _that_ great of a job, but-"

"Okay, okay, yeah, I get it, we can talk about that when you can actually form complete sentences. But why's there a giant freakin' boat right next to my house?"

"Excuse me?" A stranger's voice cut in. Both Denny and Chelsea turned their heads to see a tall young man with blond hair watching them with great interest. Denny hoped he hadn't just overheard their entire conversation about the Islands.

"I'm awfully sorry to interrupt, but I'd like to board my ship, and I fear you're preventing me from doing so!" The stranger approached Denny and Chelsea, smiling warmly at them.

"Okay, no problem, but who _are_ you?" Denny gave the guy a once-over. Even in the dark, he could tell that the outfit the guy was wearing was quality, designer label pieces, despite their casual appearance. What would he, of all people, be doing on such a dinky set of islands? Maybe he was lost. Or maybe he was going to _buy_ the Islands.

"Oh, I do apologize, how rude of me! My name is William Terry Louis Andrew -" he rattled off about fifteen more names effortlessly and Denny's brain nearly leaked out of his ears - "but you can call me Will." He smiled softly, aware that he just provided Denny and Chelsea with a _lot_ of sudden information. "And may I ask your name?"

"Denny, and this here's Popper." He thumbed at the bird that was napping on his shoulder.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Denny, but I was actually talking to the lovely maiden by your side."

Chelsea made a noise that was a combination of a gasp and a giggle. "I'm not a maiden, I'm just Chelsea!"

"'Chelsea'," Will repeated. "What a beautiful name, perfectly befitting of you."

Oh, was this guy for real? If someone had told Denny that Wisteria, a _tiny purple winged elf_ was the least ridiculous being he would meet today, he would have eaten his bandana.

"What brings you to the Sunshine Islands, _Will_?" Chelsea sounded much more coherent than she had been that entire night, as no doubt meeting The Amazing Will counteracted any alcohol that had entered her system._  
_  
Will replied, but Denny didn't catch it. He was studying the strange look in Chelsea's eyes. They were glassy, distant, but not the drunken haze she'd been in earlier. He couldn't quite pin it down until Will said something that made her smile even wider, and that's when it hit him.

The same look he had the first time he laid eyes on Lanna.

* * *

__

This was not supposed to be so epically long (and probably kind of filler-y but it's character-building for future chapters! You'll see! Eh heh) but Denny is basically my favorite character to write, so I got caught up in it, whups :|. And oh I'm sure you don't care but the cake Pierre made is very close to a German cake I ate at an Oktoberfest event, omg best cake everrrrrr so I figure Pierre can make it!

I can't say how soon the next chapter will be posted, simply because right now my life is dedicated to the Major League Baseball playoffs (Go Phillies!), which doesn't end until the beginning of November! But the ideas are constantly flowing so it could be sooner than later.

_Yes, I changed the "plot" of the game a little. The whole Sunstones thing seemed too "game-y" to write, so I just kind of have the Islands reappearing gradually as Chelsea manages to create a more stable civilization. So I thought if I changed that part around, it'd be okay to tinker with Will's introduction as well, right? Uh yeah, sure! * __**flashes artistic license**__ *_

_Thank you to everyone for reading! Please review; even the smallest compliment makes me happy! :D Or, you know, what you didn't like, what you think will happen, etc etc. It's just fun to see others' opinions!  
_


	6. Opportunity

It'd only taken a day's time to reach the Sunshine Islands, but the archipelago may as well have been light years away for Will.

So often in his twenty-two years, he'd been taught that "others" (though they never truly elaborated on the word, his mother and father always said it with such disdain, and Will associated it with the most horrific types of people imaginable) were envious of his privilege, that they would give away some of their most prized possessions to live the life he did. He had never fully understood it, that desire, though supposed he couldn't when he was so secluded _in_ his life itself.

Now, however, he felt like one of those _others_, longing for some semblance of acceptance as he watched the people of the Sunshine Island go about their lives with such enjoyment, such enthusiasm, but most of all with a _companionship_ with each other that he was completely unaware could exist.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried, oh no! In fact, he made sure to greet every Islander he crossed paths with!

Unfortunately, they didn't seem to reciprocate.

Sabrina had informed him that Julia was possibly the most outgoing girl she'd ever known, while Elliot had an incredibly calm, almost meek persona. The two frequented the beach by his yacht every afternoon, so he decided the only proper thing to do would be to introduce himself!

Will was always taught that paying a compliment was the best way to make a positive first impression. He found Julia's blouse especially stylish, and told her so, but she didn't say one word back to him, only smiled in a very forced sort of way. And Elliot glared at him menacingly! The nerve!

Will chalked it up to the fact that everyone has a bad day then and again, and that unlike him, most people were not trained to prevent themselves from displaying such sour attitudes. _No_, he told himself. _There's no reason to doubt yourself. Try, try again!_

But when Pierre, the chef extraordinaire, had stopped by Uncle's mansion later that evening to exchange recipes, Will again found himself wondering what on Earth he was doing that was so offending. Why, he thought Pierre would be _pleased_ when he interrupted the conversation with Uncle Regis to suggest that the chef try Uncle's secret recipe for risotto. The ever-energetic Pierre fell silent as his eyes met Will's momentarily, and he immediately looked away and stammered out a rather _un_sure "S-sure..." as he clumsily accepted the risotto recipe, not the curry recipe he had originally planned on.

_It was foolish and presumptuous to introduce myself by interrupting, especially when Pierre is much more educated about cooking and the like than I am!_, Will thought afterward. Hopefully Pierre wouldn't share this encounter with the other Islanders! He feared his efforts of making a memorable first impression on the other Islanders were now memorable for all the wrong reasons.

He spent the next few days after the incident with Pierre either on his ship or in Uncle Regis's library, absorbing himself in countless books, hoping to relieve all this undeserved stress by getting lost in worlds of fiction. But the tales of adventure, of romance and camaraderie, only further stoked his want for a relationship, be it just a friend or a fine young lady at his side (though he hoped for the latter much more than the former). Right now he had only his dear cousin Sabrina and his uncle, which was suitable but not at all something he would settle for.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He _did_ still have his horse, Arthur.

He and Arthur had been friends for four years now, since Will had turned eighteen and his parents deemed him responsible enough to care for another living being. Despite being admittedly spoiled, Will had never ever _begged_ for any of his possessions, but Arthur was an exception. He'd asked for a horse of his very own for as long as he could remember; his father, and all of his father's friends had their own horses, so why shouldn't he?

He got more than he ever expected from Arthur, not just a pet, but finally someone who offered unconditional love and support, and who was just as pleased by the simple joys in life as Will was.

So when Sabrina asked him if he'd like to attend the annual Horse Festival, and bring Arthur along, he was more than eager to oblige. He didn't plan on _entering_ Arthur in the race, but at least his friend would be granted chance to run free again, warm sun and fresh air, not cramped up in the undercarriage of his ship. Not only that, but Arthur could meet other horses, gain a friend. _Where his owner had so glaringly failed_, Will thought bitterly.

The morning of the festival, Will and Sabrina were two of the first people to arrive. Sabrina wandered off to talk to Julia, whose mother Mirabelle was in charge of the festival. Will found Arthur with four other horses, two of whom were being tended to by their owners. The third was grazing by its lonesome (Will frowned at the fleeting idea that its owner might be neglecting it) and the fourth was napping peacefully while an elderly gentleman and a tall, rather angry-looking man dressed entirely in black chatted idly nearby.

Will's gaze was stuck on a bird's nest in the trees high up above them, when Arthur gave an excited whinny beside him. Will turned, ready to tell off whatever foul creature had startled his friend, but he only saw Arthur snacking merrily on an apple that had been provided to him by none other than Chelsea.

Chelsea! The first girl he'd met when he'd arrived, and the one that entered his mind the most. She was always so vibrant, but had an air of mystery to her, much like the Islands themselves. He often saw her fishing on the pier with the fisherman, Denny, or walking to and from the cafe with the other females of the Islands. It seemed she was very popular with all the Islanders, never on her own. That popularity only drew Will to her more. Someone so plain, so common, yet exuding so much life...he needed to know more about her.

Her eyes met his and she giggled lightly at the wide-eyed surprise that was still plastered on his face. "Oh, hi, Will! I hope you don't mind me wishing...Arthur, is it? A little bit of good luck before the race."

"Good luck?"

"Yeah!" Chelsea walked over to the ownerless brown horse that stood by Arthur and patted her hand along his muzzle. "He's gonna need it t' beat me and Lou here!" She leaned in against Lou, spreading her small arms around the horse's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm afraid you're mistaken! Arthur won't be participating in any sort of competition today. He's only here to make new friends!" Will smiled fondly over at Arthur, who was smacking his lips, enjoying the aftertaste of his gift.

Chelsea smiled, a hint of playfulness in her blue eyes, and tucked a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. "And what about you?"

"Pardon?"

"What about you, what are _you_ here for, Will?" She took a brush out of her rucksack and began brushing Lou, but kept her eyes fixed on Will.

"I suppose to attempt to make friends as well," he sighed out. "Though I think I may require more than just an apple for luck."

"I'd say you're doing fine on your own." Chelsea giggled again at his feeble joke, which considerably eased the anxiety that had crept up on him. Did she really find what he said to be humorous? Or was it like what his father normally did with his associates, feigning amusement to be polite?

Will opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Mirabelle announcing that the race was to commence in a few minutes.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat with you, Will...but I have a race to win!" Chelsea lifted her foot into Lou's saddle stirrup, but failed to mount him, stumbling back on her heels. She turned to look at Will, her cheeks a fierce shade of red.

Without any forethought, Will set both his hands firmly on her waist as she again propelled herself to sit up on the saddle. This time she easily accomplished doing so, and for the first time since he met her, Will thought he saw a trace of bashfulness as she murmured out a quiet "Thank you."

Mercury, the horse that belonged to the elderly man from a place called Mineral Town won the race, while Chelsea finished in last place. Will sought for the opportunity to offer his consolations after the event, but she was immediately swarmed by the other townspeople after the awards were handed out, some of them looking somewhat discouraged. He wasn't sure why he felt so annoyed by their reaction; perhaps it was because Chelsea herself didn't seem at all taken aback by this disappointment. Rather, her body language, her detached smile, suggested she was apologetic about placing last. Why? There was no shame, as the other contestants were much more experienced in riding than she was.

Just this morning the most pressing issue in Will's mind had been whether or not his outfit was presentable enough to wear to the Festival. Now it was Chelsea, and this hold that she had on the Islands and all its inhabitants was slowly rooting itself in him as well. He'd been instructed to stop by Mirabelle's shop that evening to pick up Arthur, but he couldn't deny the fact that he would have gone there regardless if he _had_ to or not; Chelsea would be there to pick up her horse as well, and he wanted nothing more than to talk to her.

The second Will entered the store, he searched for any sign that Chelsea was there, but with no luck. Mirabelle greeted him with a warm smile.

"Hello, William!"

"Oh, 'Will' is perfectly fine, Ms. Mirabelle." Will ran a hand through his hair, trying not to let his smile falter. "William" sounded so much like he was being spoken to by his parents, or Uncle Regis. Ever since he was young he had asked those he wanted as friends to refer to him as "Will".

There weren't many people that called him "Will".

"You must take very good care of Arthur, _Will_! He's been one of the most cooperative horses I've ever seen! He's waiting for you out in the stables, just ask Vaughn to show you where when you get outside." Mirabelle motioned toward the door that led to the back porch, and Will waved at her.

"Thank you ever so much, Ms. Mirabelle!"

"Now now, if I get to call you 'Will', I'll have none of this "Ms." nonsense. Just 'Mirabelle', dearie." Mirabelle smiled over at him fondly as she picked up a broom and began dusting around the counter. Will was turned facing her as stepped outside, not seeing the small figure standing several feet in front of him.

"Will!"

He nearly lost his footing off the second step down off the porch. It was Chelsea, who was carrying a sack of animal feed under one arm, and clutching a stiff boar's-hair brush in the other, presumably for her horse. If she actually _had_ been upset about losing the race, she'd since gotten over it, grinning from ear to ear.

"Chelsea! I didn't think you'd be here!" Will bit his lower lip immediately, the act of fibbing getting the better of his conscious, before he continued. "Although I _hoped_ you would be."

"Ah, why's that? Need some racing tips? I'm probably not the best person to ask, you know...well, you were there, at the race..." Her voice didn't match the words the smile that remained on her face, and Will instinctively took a step closer to her.

"Er, no, actually, I'm supposed to pick up Arthur. Mirabelle said someone named Vaughn?.."

"_Oh_, yeah, he's right over...Hey! Vaughn!" Chelsea called out towards the opposite end of the porch, where the very same mysterious man in black from the Festival stood, hand lazily hanging over the fence, feeding a small group of sheep that had huddled up by his long legs. Will couldn't make out any features on him, save for a shock of silver-white hair that shone in the dying sunlight as the man looked up. Chelsea pointed to Will, and then towards the stables, and Will saw the hair nod up and down before disappearing into the horizon.

"He should be back with Arthur in a few." Chelsea set the bag of feed she'd been carrying down alongside of the steps, and sat down on an empty stool that was by the workbench in the corner of the porch. Will followed her, but on the outside of the porch, so he was leaning forward against the rail.

Chelsea sighed peacefully, reclining the stool back so it was only propped up by its rear legs, and rested her elbows on the rail behind her. Will subconsciously rubbed at his left arm with his right hand, trying his best not to just _stare_ at her. She looked so attractive in that moment, in an effortless sort of way, with her hair falling around her delicate face.

A firefly danced in front of his nose, causing him to flinch noticeably. Chelsea laughed out loud, and swiped gently at the insect. It alit onto her cupped hand, before zipping away after several seconds. Will felt her eyes on him as he stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, fixing his gaze onto the ground, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, I forgot: a guy like you isn't so used to the great outdoors, huh? You can wait inside, if you'd like."

He looked back up at her; she was sitting up straight now, all four legs of the stool on the floor of the porch. "No, I rather enjoy your company."

Chelsea's mouth formed a tight smile. "That's very nice of you, but if you're just trying to make me feel better after today, I-"

"No, not at all, Chelsea!" Her eyes widened considerably and Will shut up. Interrupting was so rude and yet it was a habit he still had problems with now and again. But it was only because he wanted to make sure she, or anyone, didn't say the wrong thing. "I..I'm sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you, but the reason I wanted to see you tonight was to tell you I thought you gave a wonderful effort this morning. Sabrina informed during the race that you've only owned Lou here for a few days, and it was very brave of you to enter the race."

"Thank you, Will. Really." She stood up off the stool and boosted herself up onto the rail, so she was much closer to Will now. Even sitting up much higher than him, she was still only a little over a head above him. "I really wish you would have entered Arthur though, it would've given the Sunshine Islands a much better chance of winning! I bet you've won a ton of races with him back where you're from."

"I...I hate to divulge this, but he's never really been in any sort of competitions before, I thought it would be awfully unfair to put him in such a situation when he's already trying to adjust to moving away from home."

"No, it wouldn't," an unfamiliar voice cut in. It was Vaughn, returned with Arthur.

Will was taken aback even more that Vaughn was actually talking than at what he said. "Pardon me?"

"You _should_ have let him race." Vaughn lifted his head enough that Will caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes shone with an arrogance that Will had only encountered from listening to his father doing business. "Not good for him to be as spoiled as he is. He's a horse, you _have _to let him run around, not keep him locked away and only let 'im out when it's convenient to you."

"I respect your opinion but I think I do a perfectly fine job taking care of him!" Vaughn showed no reaction to Will's reply, so Will added, doing his best not to let his voice rise: "Mirabelle seems to agree with me, too!"

When Vaughn _still_ didn't say anything, Will extended a hand to him. "If you'd ever like to discuss this further, my name's Will. I'm Sabrina's cousin, and you can find me on -"

Vaughn simply shoved Arthur's reins into Will's hand. Before he could walk away, Chelsea spoke up.

"He is kind of right, Will!"

Will turned to Chelsea, aghast. She was agreeing with this tactless man?

Chelsea swung her legs over the rail and hopped down on the outside part of it, so she was next to Will, beaming up at him. "How about you and I take Arthur for a ride? I'm sure he'd love it!" She stroked Arthur over his muzzle. "Wouldn't you?" Arthur neighed his approval, and Chelsea clasped her hands together. Will couldn't help but break into a smile, in relief that Chelsea's agreement was for Arthur than for the sake of argument. How very selfless of her!

"Thanks for the suggestion, Vaughn." Chelsea snagged the brush from the rail and tossed it to him. "Here, Lou likes being brushed after he wakes up from his naps." The cowboy caught it, and his hat slipped back from its usual position. Will could see a look of thorough aggravation on his face. He was positive this wasn't what Vaughn had had in mind when he'd thrown in his two cents. And typically, Will wasn't one to want the one-up on anyone else, but as it were, it was immensely satisfying seeing the other man so flustered after he'd acted so impertinently.

"Don't worry, I'll be back in like an hour or something to get Lou, I wouldn't just _leave_ him here." Chelsea smiled over at Vaughn as Will hoisted himself up onto Arthur.

"That's...yeah. Okay." Vaughn replied, his tone monotonous (though his clenched jaw suggested he was doing his best at restraining himself from any more verbal sparring), before beginning a slow walk back to the stables.

Arthur gave a nicker of impatience as Chelsea circled him, trying to decided which angle would be best for her to mount him. As she did so, her eyes kept wandering back toward the retreating Vaughn.

Will laughed as she rounded Arthur for the third time, and proffered a hand. "Chelsea." She finally turned, took his hand, and he easily lifted her up so she was secure behind him. She looped her arms around his waist, so her hands slid under his jacket but still over his shirt, and rested her head on his shoulder. Will had never had a young lady (or, at least one that was this attractive) this close to him before, and he tried to shift his thoughts to the most uninteresting topics he could dredge up: Uncle Regis droning on about his mining business, endless hours of homeschooling (especially the maths), his mother showing him the proper silverware to use for every meal. But it was of little use, as it felt as though electricity was racing through his body, and his stomach was compressed into one massive knot.

Arthur took off at a steady canter out of Mirabelle's yard, and across the bridge to Sprout Island. They passed Uncle Regis's mansion, and followed the boundary of the shore down to Gannon's shop. As they turned the corner at the carpenter's, Chelsea gave a tug on Will's shirt.

"Wait, let's stop here!"

Will gave a jerk on the reins and Arthur came to a halt. "Are you alright? I haven't been going too fast, have I?"

"No!" Chelsea hopped down off of Arthur, walking over to and seating herself on the ledge of an old, weather-beaten well that was erected by the shoreline. "C'mere!" Will obeyed, and Chelsea eyed Arthur warily as Will sat down beside her. "He won't run off? I know he didn't really stay still for Vaughn over at Mirabelle's."

"Oh, on the contrary, he's very well-behaved! It's simply a matter of trust! He usually doesn't take to strangers very quickly...although, it seems, you're an exception."

"How 'bout you, Will? How do _you_ take to strangers?" She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, smiling brightly.

"I...I don't _think_ I have any difficulty. However, it seems I haven't yet obtained anywhere near as many friends as you have. Or any at all, really." Will hung his head, scuffing his toe on a rock that sat at the foot of the well.

"You will, you just have to get out more! You're hardly ever out, this is the first time I've seen you anywhere besides going to your uncle's or to your ship. I'm glad you decided to come to the festival though."

"Sabrina convinced me to go. She said it'd be a good opportunity to connect with the other Islanders, and give Arthur a chance to leave his stable on my ship."

"And was it?"

"Yes, today has been quite memorable...and I can honestly say it's only been getting better." Will inched closer to Chelsea, but she didn't notice, her eyes half-shut as she let out a tired sigh.

"You're probably the only one who had fun at the Festival, then. I wish I could have won."

"Chelsea, I already told you that it was quite admirable of you to participate in the race, alone."

She finally looked back up at him. "Well, you and Vaughn are the only two who've said anything like that. Everyone else was pretty disappointed I lost. To quote Denny, it was a 'total bummer'."

"I'm sure he didn't mean he was disappointed in _you_. We all like to see those we care about succeed. And _Vaughn_, really_?_ He seems so very, er..."

"Jackass-ish?" Chelsea supplied, and Will winced at her choice of words, but didn't deny it. "Yeah, he kinda is. But that horse that won...he helped raise it, I guess. He knows all the time it and effort it must take to win those races, that it's much easier said than done, and that if I only have to keep working on it."

"I don't know him past, er..._talking _to him this evening, but I can hardly believe he said all _that._"

"Not in those _exact_ words, no...but if it's all the same to you, Will, I didn't come out here with you to talk about Vaughn."

"I apologize." Will proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his jacket, to his elbows. It wasn't particularly warm, even with Summer nearing, but he felt so very dizzy right now.

"What I _really_ wanted to ask you is why you came here."

Why _did_ he come here? Will hadn't had to answer that, exactly. Of course, Father had interrogated him near to death about why he'd want to leave his "superior way of life" in search of maybe not something better, just something more, different. And Mother had cried almost an ocean's worth of tears, pleading with him to reconsider, alluding that they, his parents, were the reason for his departure. But they hadn't ever been _interested_ in his reasoning, only that it couldn't possibly be an acceptable enough answer.

So he that's what he told her. "I suppose I just wanted to know what else was out there. I'm fully aware that I had a wonderful life, but...other people live perfectly happy lives in a far less...er..._expensive_ lifestyle. I wanted to meet those people."

"You wanna know why _I_ came here?" Chelsea knocked her heels repetitively, back and forth, against the well wall, and didn't even allow Will to reply before plowing right in with the answer. "Same as you. Not that I'm from a rich family or anything, but I mean, wanting to just get away and live a different life."

Relief washed over Will. Speaking his true feelings didn't have as such dire consequences as he thought they might! Chelsea hadn't laughed, or disregarded him, or talked over him, or any other reaction that he'd grown used to. She had just _listened_ to him.

After a few silent moments, Chelsea spoke up again. "Do you like where you're from?"

"I...I don't _dis_like it. But I've never been anywhere else, so I can't say for certain if I truly like it or not."

Chelsea nodded, and told Will about where she was from: a small community in Streusel County. Will had heard of the place before, as there was a mountain range on the outskirts of it that was prominent in Uncle Regis's mining business. According to Chelsea, there were many families there that had been there for generations, some of them never bothering to leave, too comfortable in their small-town life, in both physical _and_ mental aspects. People remained friends with those that they were close to from childhood, never forming a larger circle.

Here Will was convinced that only his "class of people" were the only type to act so narrowly. And although he wasn't glad that Chelsea had encountered such intolerant people, at least now he knew he wasn't alone in his views, nor were they completely unfounded, as Mother had often tried to tell him whenever he dared voice his concern of peoples' contempt for all things out of the ordinary.

The two continued on in the same vein, discussing their respective hometowns for another good half-hour, when Arthur gave a very loud snort, pawing vehemently at the ground.

"O-oh." Will smiled sheepishly, cutting off their conversation. "I'm afraid we've been out much later than either Arthur or I expected...not that I have any complaints about that, mind you! But I suppose we should get going, I'm sure you'll need a good night's rest, to be ready for all your farming duties." Will had almost forgotten Chelsea's occupation; she definitely did not resemble any ranchers he'd ever heard about. Yet here she was, bringing notoriety back to the Islands in such a short amount of time. He could only wonder how far she would take her success.

Chelsea nodded and followed Will over to Arthur. He had his back turned to her, combing his fingers through the loose tangles in Arthur's mane, when she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Here..." He turned to see Chelsea presenting to him an eye-catching flower, dozens of full, dewy-white petals curled inwards.

A toyflower. He'd seen several of them in bloom around the Islands, and often thought of plucking up a few to give his cabin a touch of nature, but didn't want to disturb their state. He was glad he hadn't, as now it would have meant that any others he'd already had on display would have been immediately discarded, to be replaced by this stunning one Chelsea had given him.

Chelsea's voice grew faint, filled with a sort of tenderness. "Usually I ship them out for a few bucks, but I thought you'd might like it to brighten up your room...and to...y'know, remind you of today. I know it's not what you're used to, but-"

Will took it from her, carefully weaving the stem between two buttonholes of his jacket, seeing as how he wouldn't have any other way to transport it once he was on Arthur. "Oh, no, I adore it! Thank you! I know why you'd think such a thing, seeing as how my uncle is so deeply involved in mining gemstones, but I have absolutely no interest in them at all. I prefer much simpler things..."

"You're more than welcome."

Will and Chelsea ascended onto Arthur's back (Chelsea all by herself this time), and much slower than the trip there, began the journey back to Mirabelle's shop. It only struck Will then that this was the first time he'd ever taken Arthur out for a trot after sundown. Though, his father had always warned him about the night's chill possibly sickening both Will and his horse. Up until now, he'd never questioned Father's rules. Now, he was breaking these rules, but there didn't feel anything terribly _wrong_ with doing so. Arthur was happy. Chelsea, whose smile was pressed to his shoulder, and whose arms tightened around him as they went over a bump, seemed to be very happy as well. And Will himself was not so much happy as he was contented with the prospect that he was now free to experience life under no one else's terms but his own.

* * *

_Hey there, everyone! Wow, this chapter was so much shorter in my head than on paper (or .doc, I guess). Honestly, I can see this fic hitting 40 chapters or even more. __But I guess it's alright, seeing as how I love to write so much. I just worry about parts seeming filler-y, with how lengthy the chapters get, eh. I try to include only what I think is important though, really!_

_Now with baseball season wrapping up, I can put my full focus into this, and (maybe) churn out the chapters a bit quicker than I have been._

_Hmm, notice anything **different** about this fic, eh? Like, summary? Or character listing? ;P _

_Oh, would it be cheesy to dedicate this chapter? Yes? No? Anyway, I'm going to dedicate it to __**Yoru_No_Angel, **one of my favorite writers on this website, and also a fellow Will fanatic. :)_

_As always, please read & review with anything, praise or constructive criticism or predictions, whatever. Thanks, and enjoy!_


	7. Connections

The stifling heat was no good, not at all. The Summer season had made its presence known, temperature gradually rising the last full week of Spring until hitting its peak on the 1st. Chelsea could only pray that this was an anomaly, not just for her sanity but for the wellbeing of her crops and her animals.

Most days she'd be done with all her farmwork by now, but the _heat_! It made her lazy, wanting nothing more to stay in bed in her pajamas with a giant bowl of ice cream and a good book, or take a nap out on the Sprout Island pier while Denny fished beside her, the lapping waves like a comforting massage for her ears and mind.

Luckily for Chelsea, she could at least seek refuge in her brand new chicken coop. It seemed a little unfair to her that it was bigger than her own house, seeing as how she only had one chick, a little fuzzball she'd named Camilla. But Gannon had built in ventilation ducts around the ceiling of the coop, allowing for a constant flow of air, it was hardly uncomfortable. Chelsea even fell asleep in it the first night she owned Camilla, slouched against one of the feed bins with her chick cradled in her lap.

Right now she could hardly believe the chick was even capable of sleep. Chelsea was doing her best to lug the feed bag from the bin over to the feeder but Camilla was running around the coop as though she'd been injected with enough caffeine to keep the entire Island going for days.

"NO! CAMILLA, LOOK OUT!" But it was too late. Chelsea's attempt to dodge her chick fell flat, as did she, feed bag tumbling out of her arms, grains spraying all over the floor of the coop.

Chelsea watched her chick, who was still scurrying around aimlessly, and rubbed her wounded knee. And _she_ was the one who wanted _another_ chicken. She couldn't even manage this one.

"H-hey, what about me!" A tiny voice trilled from the sea of feed that lay before her. She thrust her hand into it and extracted a very disgruntled, very feed-covered Coral.

"P-pfuhhf!" Coral spluttered out a mouthful of feed. His eyes finally met Chelsea's surprised ones, and he grinned at her as though this was a usual way of greeting her. "Oh, hi Chelsea!"

"H-hi!" she squeaked out. She'd grown used to seeing the occasional sprite patrolling her ranch, almost forgetting them since it'd become commonplace. Coral, though, she only saw on her visits to their Island.

"Long time, no see, huh?" He prised himself out from her grip and shook his wings, feed sprinkling out of them, and hopped up onto her scraped knee. Somehow the stinging pain in it disappeared, even though it was still raw and red.

Long time? It'd only been a week, or so. It'd only been since...

Since Will arrived.

Coincidence. _Entirely_.

"Sorry." Chelsea smiled crookedly, scratching at the back of her head. "But hey, you should be glad I haven't been around, that means I'm busy, working hard, right?" She asked hopefully.

"Yes, yes! We've been watching you and think you're doing _wonderful_!"

"O. Kay." Chelsea replied suspiciously, and Coral frowned slightly. Chelsea knew there'd be a -

"But." Coral exhaled, and coughed, still having to deal with the remnants of the feed he'd accidentally swallowed. "We don't know if you quite understand..." his beady eyes ticked back and forth; she could see the gears spinning in that little pointy-eared head of his.

"Understand what?"

"Everything."

"_What_ don't I understand?" She repeated, her voice much sharper, even angry. Coral brought his hands up to his face and tipped forward against her knee, trembling.

"I-I'm so sorry Chelsea! I-it's all my fault! But I...we...I...didn't know either until this very day!"

And then Chelsea did something she hadn't done since she'd arrived on the Sunshine Islands. She started crying. Not hard, but a few tears leaked from her eyes. This little Sprite, and all of them, had shown her nothing but the most genuine kindness. Until now, she hadn't even realized that she was probably closer to them than _any_ of the humans on the Islands. But they knew more about her than Denny did, than Julia or Pierre. They knew things about her that even she herself hadn't been aware of, and here she was just being a straight-up jerk to them. She wasn't that sort of person, to push caring people (and fairies) away for foolish reasons like the fear of being too close. Not anymore she wasn't.

"Coral. I-I didn't mean to yell at you. I didn't, I've had a very _long_ day, I'm so sorry. Please...please don't..." She scooped him up off her knee with both hands and tucked him in between her overshirt and yellow t-shirt, rocking him like an infant. "Please, I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help me." She sniffed, wiping a hand errantly at the tears that had trickled down her cheek.

Coral nodded, accepting her apology. He cleared his throat, still finding his composure, and twiddled his thumbs. "...W-we think there may be other people on the Islands that have something to do with the Harvest Goddess, with bringing her and the Islands back."

"_What?_ A-and you're just figuring that out now?"

"Give us a break, Chelsea, we haven't been able to really use our magic for hundreds of years! You'd be rusty too!" He sat up on the crook of her elbow, his own arms crossed.

"Who? Who is it?"

"Um, that's the tricky part, Chelsea." Coral's arms and wings simultaneously drooped. "Since we haven't been able to really use our magic in so long...and because it's not very strong yet...we can't...exactly...tell. It took us a week with _you_." Coral's voice tapered off for several seconds, before he stuck his index finger straight up into the air, an epiphany. "Or!"

"Or...?"

"Or it's because they're only just now making their presence known! That's why we couldn't sense it before!"

Someone who hadn't been here until recently?

_Will_? That would be far too perfect to be true, the cutest guy on the Islands _also_ being able to help her restore them? There were a few other new residents as well; some miners from Regis's corporation, and a treasure-hunter from a far-off land named Lily. But them, and Will...what would they know about the Harvest Goddess?

"So is it okay to ask them about it, then?" She asked, breathless. Then, she added, so Coral wouldn't think her irresponsible: "I mean, if you or I figure out who it is." As nice as it'd been to share her adventure with Denny, having someone else who actually _knew_ a thing or two about the Harvest Goddess and didn't just nod dumbly whenever she talked about it.

"We'd still _prefer_ you didn't, Chelsea. They may not know themselves that they're here on the Islands for that purpose."

"That doesn't make any sense! How would they be able to help me but not know anything they'd have anything to do with the Harvest Goddess!"

"Chelsea, _you_ didn't know you had anything to do with her when you came here, but you do!"

_That_. Was true. So there were other Islanders whose lives could have been directly, or even indirectly, affected by the Harvest Goddess? Judging from her conversations with everybody (though granted, the only people she knew well enough at this point to really know that much about their past were Denny, and maybe Pierre), they were just the same sort of people that were from her hometown, albeit a lot nicer and accepting. They'd led a Point A-to-Point B sort of life, with the share of hardships that one typically goes through, but nothing that stood out and shouted at her as being _special_.

Chelsea nodded. It seemed like the only thing she could do in this instance. She understood, now, at least better than she had a few minutes ago. Despite that, she sighed heavily, absently adjusting her bandana. This whole ordeal was such a slippery slope, and it tore at her, how severely it was removed from her "normal" life. Why did it have to be a secret? Why couldn't it just be out in the open, that she didn't feel she was putting on a charade for everyone, for her _friends?_

Before Coral left for Sprite Island (he told Chelsea there was a "Weekly Sprite Meeting", but she thought it might have more to do with the way he kept cowering away from Camilla whenever she'd get too close), he made a surprising request: to invite the fisherman over to their Island sometime in the near future. Chelsea agreed but inwardly winced, imagining Denny viewing the little Sprites "helping" him fish by volunteering to be bait.

* * *

_Maybe it's a good thing_, she thought as she began her nightly venture into town. Denny had a much more positive outlook on things than she did, that maybe he'd hear the same story from Coral in a completely different light than she had.

She needed a break from this. A treat for herself. She'd won the Crop Festival a couple days ago and thanks to that harvest of turnips, for the first time she actually had _extra_ cash. Money couldn't buy happiness, but it could buy her another chicken.

Chelsea opened the door to Mirabelle's shop and got a face full of Julia, who was dashing to the door while hopping into her boots. Her trademark high ponytail was gone, blonde tresses cascading over her shoulders.

"Is your mom home? I need to buy a few things..."

"Oh, great! But she's not, one of the hinges on our silo broke and she went over to Gannon's before he closes. She'll be back soon though!"

"Actually, I was kind of in a hurry, could you...?"

"Sorry, Chels, but I'm a hurry too!" Julia dragged her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out. "Felicia just called and asked me to come over and help them label a _ton_ of milk bottles before they get shipped out at five. " She batted her eyes, and Chelsea noticed then that they were outlined in a silvery-lavender hue.

"Julia, are you wearing _eyeshadow_?" Chelsea asked, incredulous. Julia was definitely a "girly-girl", but she had such a natural beauty, Chelsea didn't even expect her to _own_ makeup.

"Oh, um...why? Is it obvious? " Julia licked at her lips nervously. They were shinier than usual, tinted a coral-pink.

"And lip gloss?"

Julia hastily rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand, leaving a sticky splotch behind. "No?"

"Why are wearing makeup just to label milk?" Chelsea crossed her arms, awaiting what she was sure would be _quite_ the profound answer.

Julia twisted a lock of golden hair around her index finger. "Wearing make-up just makes me feel super-pretty, I guess! Like an extra boost of confidence! And since Elliot's going to be there..." She toed at the ground with her boot, dreamy smile spreading across her now-smudged lips. "I like to put my best face forward!"

"Uh-huh. For _Elliot_." Chelsea elongated Elliot's name, causing her friend to blush.

"If you do need anything, Vaughn's outside. He'll be more than glad to..." Julia paused, and edited herself. "He's there." And with that she ran off, or more, _bounced_ off, down the lane to Taro's.

Somehow Chelsea doubted that Elliot would notice Julia's _makeup_, of all things.

Vaughn was outside, as Julia had said. Chelsea immediately spotted him in the sheep pen, his black attire a stark contrast to the snow-white wool that had flocked around him. She walked over to him, fishing her wallet out of her rucksack.

"Vaughn?"

"_What_?" he growled at her, not even bothering to look at her as he firmly, deliberately, dragged a flat wire-brush through the wool of one of the sheep.

"Is that how you talk to people? '_What?_" Chelsea mimicked with a challenging smile.

"Yeah, sometimes," he replied carelessly, tilting his head towards her. She supposed he was actually looking at her now, even though his hat hid any proof. "Julia's inside, if you're lookin' for her."

"No, I'm not looking for her, and besides, she's not. She went over to Taro's to help them ship some milk." Vaughn blinked at her, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. "What? She did!" Chelsea laughed. "I don't think she's going over to help as much as she is to see _Elliot_. She was even wearing makeup!"

Vaughn laughed derisively through his nose, his lips curving into a smirk. The fact that he showed any reaction at all to something regarding Julia's social life was cause enough for her to question him.

"What? What's so funny about that?"

"I don't think Elliot's going to be looking at her _face,_" he drawled out, his smirk becoming more pronounced.

A peal of laughter escaped Chelsea's mouth before she clapped a hand over it. Julia was one of her better friends on the Islands, but hearing Vaughn echo her thoughts was far too unexpected and amusing. He appeared almost confused to her reaction, his smirk returning to an expression of neutrality. "S-so," the last of her chuckles died out. "So, I just wanted to buy a chicken."

"'lright. Fifteen hundred." He opened a gloved hand expectantly as she counted out her money.

"F-fifteen hundred? But Mirabelle said she'd give me a discount when I wanted to buy my first chicken..."

"Do I look like Mirabelle t' you? Know she's just tryin'a be nice but she's gonna need the money sooner or later."

She stuffed the wad of cash into the cowboy's palm. He had a point. "Here. Fine."

A few minutes later, she was the owner of another adorable chicken, which she named Penny after character in the childrens' tale "Chicken Little". Her and Vaughn stood on the porch, Vaughn monitoring how she stroked her hands through Penny's downy feathers, his hand twitching in his pocket as if she were petting it all wrong, and he needed to rescue it from her clutches.

"What?" She laughed out as the chicken clucked, satisfied in her arms.

"Nothin'," he reached out and gave Penny a rough pat across the back. "Make sure you let 'er go outside and eat some greens. Feed's alright but ya gotta mix it up if you want better eggs. You're enterin' the Chicken Festival next week, right?"

"I...I guess I could, yeah."

"Then, definitely. You probably won't win, jus' saying.-"

"I won the Crop Festival, you know!"

"Yeah. Y'did. Good job. You can't just raise a good chicken by pouring the right amount of water on it, though. I'm just tryin' to help you at least _look_ like you know what you're doin', so you won't be a total failure at the Festival."

_Failure_. The words rang in her head. The first "conversation" she'd ever had with Vaughn was him warning her of consequences of resurrecting the Islands, or more specifically, her imminent failure to do so. And she hadn't thought much of it other than that Vaughn was prone to being contrary for the pure sake of being contrary. But he'd been so passionate about it. Angry and irritated but clearly heartfelt, unlike the deadpan one-word answers he used on everyone else. She'd never worked up the nerve to ever ask him about again. He was difficult _enough_ to talk to without it being about such a divisive subject.

It made sense, suddenly, after what Coral had just told her: if there was someone out there who would be willing to _help_ her through all this, who knew enough to do so, that it was just as likely that someone would do the opposite. To hinder her efforts for whatever reason. She had to know.

"Can I ask you something?" Chelsea moved Penny to the crook of her arm, cradling her like a football, and lowered her head, wanting to avoid Vaughn's eyes when they predictably narrowed.

"What? D'ya need something else?

"No...uh, I don't, exactly, but-"

"Then I don't see any reason that you need t' ask me anything."

Vaughn went to pass by her and head indoors, but Chelsea snagged him by the elbow. "_No_, Vaughn, wait!"

His purple eyes bore hotly into her, and the words she had prepared plummeted down her throat. She immediately retracted her hand, as though she'd touched a burning stove.

She remembered when she was harboring her secret of the Harvest Sprites from Denny. How he hadn't pressed her into talking about it, out of respect, and Vaughn was _far_ less talkative than she was. She couldn't be like that, just _drill_ him with this, or he might close up for good. The truth was bound to come out sooner or later, with Vaughn having no qualms about sharing his honest opinion given the perfect opportunity that it be used in a disparaging manner. She stood with her mouth parted for a few seconds before whipping up a replacement question._  
_  
"Could you...could you take Penny over to my coop? I don't really have time to take her back...I sort of had plans for tonight." That wasn't untrue. She was busy every night. Just, she didn't know with what, at the moment.

Suspicion. It was written all over Vaughn's face. He _had_ to have known that wasn't what she'd intended to ask. But he tipped his hat to her and lifted the chicken out of her arm.

"'lright. Sure. Give me something to do."

She would have rather he just told her to bug off. It didn't even bother her that much when he gave her that attitude, that he _knew_ better, because maybe he did, or else he wouldn't have said anything when he did those few weeks ago. It just puzzled her _why_ he would put so much effort into hiding it.

_He probably isn't even hiding anything_, she mused as she walked out from Mirabelle's shop, over to Sprout Island. _He's probably just screwing with me_.

* * *

One of Chelsea's teachers once told her that if you can't find the answers you're seeking in people, that the next best bet was book. And she knew already that Sabrina had shelves upon shelves of books related to the history and geography of the Sunshine Islands; Regis had meticulously researched their mining benefits before relocating there.

She rapped lightly on the door of Regis's mansion, and was greeted by a very excited Sabrina.

Chelsea couldn't help but be a tad jealous of how Sabrina could be so pretty, classy even, when she wore the simplest of clothes: a loose-fitting purple checkered dress, an itchy-looking pink cardigan, and a large satin hairbow that would have looked ridiculous on anybody else, but somehow on Sabrina seemed to be part of her. Chelsea, on the other hand, was sure that she gave off the impression that she'd rolled off the turnip truck, with her grass-stained shorts and her shirt that reeked of chickens and hay.

Chelsea (as vaguely as possible) explained her purpose for being there as Sabrina shut the door, a cold burst of air surrounding them. Air-conditioning. Chelsea had nearly forgotten about it's existence. Its sweet, blessed existence. Her eyes slid half-shut in bliss as Sabrina led her to the library.

"Did you want a cup of tea? Father baked scones last night, too, if you'd like some! There's raspberry, lemon, and chocolate, they're all so good!" Sabrina burbled happily.

"No, thank you. I only came by for ...Will!" Chelsea's eyes expanded to the size of plates when she saw she wasn't the only one in the library.

Will was sitting at the desk in the far corner, so handsome in just his black t-shirt and white chino slacks. He placed the book he'd been reading down, smiling back up at her. "Hello, Chelsea!"

There was another knock on the door, and Sabrina excused herself. Chelsea shyly approached Will, her mouth suddenly feeling heavy, dry. "Whatcha reading?"

"Nothing of much substance, just a fantastical novel about...now, don't laugh, but vampires, of all things."

Chelsea did her best not to laugh, but couldn't suppress a small snort of amusement.

"It's not that I'm _invested_ in these sort of stories, mind you! It's engrossing, yes, but entirely too predictable. Only, reading about such strange things only motivates me to continue my own hobby."

"Hobby? You _write_ too?" _Of course he did. Of course he wouldn't only be good-looking and kind, but creative as well._

"Not professionally, not even stories." Will stuck a bookmark in the page he was on and closed the book, standing up next to Chelsea. "Mainly I log my thoughts in a journal every now and again when they are too much to bear. But I'd like to one day, maybe write some fictional adventure." He glanced down at his book. "It can't be too difficult."

"No, no, I'm sure you'd be more than able..." It wasn't like her to be so flirtatious, but Chelsea glided her fingers up Will's exposed forearm. Goosebumps erupted beneath her fingertips and along her own body, a delightful charge that was interrupted far too soon.

"Yo! Chels!"

She spun around. Even stranger than the sight of Denny in such a lavish environment was that he was carrying a _book_. "_What_ are you doing here?" She sounded much harsher than was necessary, or even meant to be, though Denny didn't seem to pay that any mind.

He tossed the book carelessly onto an empty spot on the closest shelf, and grinned mischievously, registering what he'd just intruded on. "Nice to see you too. Just borrowed this book from Sabrina 'bout the seas here, got lots of charts and maps of 'em and everything!"

Chelsea shot an icy glare at Denny. "I see, it didn't have words, that would explain why you had at." Try as she might to sound threatening, as if she were truly mad at him, it didn't work. It never did, as she was never upset to see him. Her frown disappeared as she finished her sentence.

"Yeah, hur hur." He turned his attention to Will. "Hey dude, what's up?"

"Nothing is 'up', as you say. It's far too hot to do anything outdoors today."

Sabrina came bustling in, for which Chelsea was incredibly thankful. "Will, Father wants to talk to you." Will's eyes fell upon Chelsea, disappointed about such an abrupt exit, and Sabrina gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, only for a second." Will nodded and followed her out of the library.

"Hey, over here." Chelsea gestured for Denny to join her as she snuck into the narrow space between two bookshelves. There wasn't anyone around to hide from but with the secretive nature of what she had to tell Denny, it seemed appropriate to make themselves scarce, if possible. She didn't even give him the chance to say anything before she barreled right into what was on her mind. "Do you think anyone else knows about the whole Islands thing?"

"What, you mean like with the Sprites an' all that?"

Chelsea ran her finger along the chips and cracks that were scattered all over the shelf. "No, not exactly, I mean like...things about the Harvest Goddess. Or the Sprites too, I guess. I've just been thinking a lot lately, and...I find it weird that a lot of people here believe in the Harvest Goddess but don't really know that much about her."

"Who do you think would know anything? I bet Sabrina would, she's always readin' and stuff."

There was absolutely no way Denny would believe her if she told him "Vaughn". Or even worse, he might try to question Vaughn himself, which could only end in disaster. And _now_ she had the thought planted that Sabrina had somehow stumbled across something important, with all the time she had her nose in a book. This wasn't the direction she'd been hoping to steer the conversation.

"N-no one. I was thinking about telling Pierre about it..." Her stomach gnawed at itself as she again, had to half-lie.

Denny laughed lightly. "What, let him join our secret club?"

"Sure. Yeah." It didn't seem like a bad idea to tell Pierre about it; he'd certainly go to any lengths to help her with this whole endeavor. But this was strike two. She'd failed to ask Vaughn about _anything_ and here she was with the person she trusted the most on the Islands, and _still_ couldn't find the words.

Denny must have recognized how discouraged she was, and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Hey, remember I said if you don't wanna tell me this stuff right away, that's cool. I know you're all sworn to secrecy about some of it."

"No, no, I want to! But, maybe...maybe I wouldn't be the best to tell you, do you think you could just come by my ranch later tonight? I uh...the Sprites said they want to meet you. Or, their leader, he does."

"Sure, will do. Take me to your leader." Denny chuckled and fingered at a book that was on the shelf between them. "Hey, check it out, _Miracles of the Harvest Goddess Explained_. Think this might be helpful?" He handed the book to Chelsea. In the sweeping excitement of seeing Will, she'd forgotten why she came over in the first place. This was the first ray of hope she'd seen all day, the happenstance that the book she didn't even know she was searching for was right in front of her. Her mind drifted to Will again as she shoved the book into her rucksack. _Maybe my other answers are too..._

Sabrina and Will's voices indicated their return, and Denny and Chelsea met them at the doorway. Will looked to Sabrina, then back to the duo. "Chelsea, Denny, Uncle Regis has informed me that it's nearly dinner time, and when I told him that you were visiting, he offered for you both to join us, if you'd like."

"What? No way!" Denny exclaimed at the same time Chelsea went speechless with a gigantic smile.

"Eat up! Eat up!" Popper chirped from Denny's shoulder.

Will gave a hearty laugh. "I'll take those as a 'yes'. Come, Sabrina and I will show you to the dining room."

"So what's on the menu?" Denny asked, his eyes were all over the place, at the extravagant paintings that lined the walls as the group made their way up the stairs.

"Uncle made a shrimp and vegetable dish. I had a taste when I went to talk to him, and it's absolutely splendid."

"Sweet!"

"No, actually, it's a bit on the spicy side. Now we mustn't keep Uncle Regis waiting, that's one of the things he despises most!"

Denny and Chelsea exchanged glances, Denny's one of exasperation and Chelsea's of smitten amusement.

Chelsea had been to Regis's dining room and kitchen before, but never for an actual _meal_. The tablecloth was white as fresh snow, and all the plates, glassware looked brand new, unused. The meal was laid out before them, the aforementioned shrimp dish and a huge noodle casserole. Chelsea almost cracked up at such a relatively small meal at a table that could have seated the entire Islands.

Regis was already at the head of the table, as the foursome neared. Just as Chelsea foresaw, his cold black eyes were immediately drawn to Denny. He gave the fisherman a once-over, from his algae-encrusted boots, to his fish gut-stained undershirt, to the unruly curly hair escaping from his purple bandana. "My boy, I don't know if this meal's setting will be er...what you're _used_ to." Chelsea was sure Regis wasn't trying to be rude, but she could see Denny nonplussed, eyebrows quirked in an _are-you-serious_? sort of way.

"Uncle Regis, any friend of Chelsea's should be more than welcome at our dinner table! And after all, you invited them!" Will barked at his uncle, and Sabrina pleaded with the most innocent flutter of the eyes Chelsea had ever seen and a honey-sweet "Please, Daddy?"

Regis ceded, and Sabrina sat down to his right, while Denny gave Will a solid slap on the back. "Thanks, bro!"

"'Bro?'" Will repeated, but Denny didn't answer, unceremoniously plopping down on the chair across from Sabrina. Chelsea went to sit down next to him, but before she could do so, she felt a warm hand touch her arm.

"Here, let me!" Will pulled the chair out and slid it back under her as she made herself comfortable, before seating himself across from her.

She felt the red flushing out onto her cheeks. _No_ guy had ever pulled her chair out, at least not in jest. She surreptitiously rubbed her foot over his under the table as everyone else unfurled their silverware from their napkin, a silent 'thank you'. Will fumbled with his fork and spoon, grabbing them at the wrong ends as he situated them on either side of his plate.

Dinner was positively delicious; Chelsea could see now why Pierre had taken to visiting here more frequently over the past couple weeks. She'd never thought that someone like Regis could be such an outstanding chef, but everything was close to Pierre's caliber of cooking, a compilation of seasonings that blended into one exceptional taste.

Sabrina and her father chatted as Chelsea was sure they normally did, about the mining business, with Regis doing more of the talking, and Sabrina mostly agreeing with him. Denny was shoveling down as much of the shrimp and vegetable dish as he could manage, with Popper hiding on the floor under his chair (it was a formal setting, after all), catching any scraps that fell his way. Chelsea made sure to ask Will about his progress on socializing with the other Islanders, and was pleased to discover that he'd at least become friendly with Mirabelle, because of Arthur. She did point out to him that he still had to make an effort to interact with people closer to his age, and was about to offer to maybe come to dinner with her and Denny and Lanna sometime (not as a date, of course), when the strangest thing happened.

Regis initiated conversation with her.

"Chelsea, Will tells me you're from...ah, Streusel County, is it?" She nodded. "Yes, that's quite interesting! One of our most successful operations is there, on Mount Tiramisu!"

She supposed that Regis was trying to get chummy with her for his nephew's sake, but still, it was very intimidating, with his reputation. Chelsea saw Sabrina roll her eyes, and wondered how many times the girl had heard her father talk about this. She chased a noodle around her empty plate with her fork, and could feel everyone's eyes on her as they awaited her answer. If she was ever to be close to Will, she'd have to get on Regis's good side as well.

"Yeah, it was a really big deal there. I knew lots of people who worked there." She finally looked up at Regis, attempting to sound as though she really was interested. "Do you umm...you still go back there at all?"

"No, not anymore. You see, I'm still the titular head of the corporation, and many others too, but I've left bulk of the mining operations up to the lower executives. Now my primary focus is Volcano Island." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Denny with his napkin stuffed to his face, shaking in laughter at (Chelsea was sure of it) the word "titular." She willed herself not to glance at him, knowing she'd be done for, already feeling the chuckles building up deep in her throat.

Regis must have noticed too, because he cast a frigid stare over to Denny. "And what is it, again, that _you_ do, my boy?"

Denny composed himself (barely), twirling his fork between his middle and index finger. "I fish."

"Ah, yes, fishing is quite a relaxing hobby. Even I partake in it every now and again! But I meant, what do you do for a _living_?"

"I _said,_" Denny's grip tightened around his fork, and his words came out through gritted teeth. "I'm a fisherman."

Regis didn't take kindly to his tone, raising a sharp eyebrow. "And do you find this to be lucrative?"

"Yeah, sometimes, but not always. It's not about the money!" Denny rose slightly out of his chair and Chelsea immediately brought her hand to his arm to prevent him from going any further.

"Oh, please, let's talk about something else!" Sabrina piped up, but the two men ignored her, far too absorbed in their increasingly unpleasant discussion.

"My boy, I'm not saying it's a _bad_ occupation, but it's not something that grants much financial stability, I must say! Now, that is just my point of view, but I'm sure even _you_ can see it."

"Not really, I can't. I don't have my head that far up my butt!" Denny slammed his fork down on the table, causing a small tremor. Everything, everyone else, was dead silent.

"Y-you ruffian!" Regis exploded. "How _dare_ you speak to me in such a vulgar manner! Do you _not_ know who I am? Do you not -"

Regis's heated diatribe was broken off by Popper coming to his owner's rescue, flying up onto the table and hissing madly. Chelsea had no idea that the bird could be so temperamental; all it ever did was eat, sleep, or peep something about either subject.

"G-get out of here!" Regis roared as Popper waddled around in a deranged blindness, colliding into plates and water goblets. "And take this odious fowl with you!"

"Oh...oh yeah? Well, _you're_ an odious fowl!" Denny countered, pointing emphatically at Regis before snatching up Popper and storming out of the dining room.

Chelsea excused herself in the most polite fashion she could muster, a shaky "Th-thank you for the meal," and rushed out to chase down Denny, whom she could hear tromping down the stairs.

Denny was out the door and Chelsea was inches in front of it when her rucksack appeared to her side out of thin air, right at her eye level. She gasped quietly, turning to see Will holding it out for her.

"Here, Chelsea. I know you wouldn't want to forget this." She took it from him and hugged it to her chest. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to walk you home?"

"N-no, I...I...it's fine."

"Chelsea?"

She lifted her face to him, chewing on the inside of her cheek to stop her lip from trembling. She would _not_ cry in front of Will, not when he'd been the perfect gentleman that entire night. But thinking about that just made the sob inside her grow. She swallowed it down.

"I apologize for Uncle Regis's argument with Denny. That wasn't right of him to be so judgmental of your friend, even though I can't say I care for how Denny spoke with him, either. I know Sabrina will set Uncle Regis straight, you needn't worry or blame yourself."

Everything about him _was_ so perfect and she...she wasn't. Yet, he wasn't upstairs consoling his uncle, nor was he getting in her face reprimanding her. It was such a foreign experience, the courtesy he showed her. Maybe it was too soon to think it, and an unbelievably immature impulse, but she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and kiss him.

"Th-thank you, Will. I had a nice time tonight, until..._that_. I hope to see you again soon."

"It won't be soon enough, I'm afraid. Please extend my apologies to Denny when you see him again, too. Good night, Chelsea."

She waited until Will disappeared back upstairs, and when she exited Regis's mansion, Denny was waiting for her, pacing around in a huff.

"Ugh, c'mon Chels, let's go." He took her by the wrist and started in the direction of Verdure Island, but she wrenched away from him.

"No, Denny, I'm fine. No thanks to you." She swung her rucksack at him, not too hard but enough that it had an impact. "Why are you such an ass?"

"Ow, hey!" He massaged his upper arm, where she'd hit him. "What, what are you talking about? Regis was a total stuck-up dickhead, talkin' to me like I'm somethin' on the bottom of his shoe. Jus' cuz he's some corporation titty-head or whatever, that don't make him _better_ than me."

"Whatever, Denny. I don't want to talk about it now. I'm going home, this day's been long enough. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

"I thought you wanted to show me the Sprites?"

"No, you've done enough, tonight! See if Regis ever lets me come over again..." Her hands balled up into fists as the sob she'd repressed fought its way back at the thought of never going to see Will at Regis's mansion.

"_You_ didn't do anything wrong, okay? If he wants to say anythin' about it, I'll take the blame, I don't care! What'd I tell you, Chelsea? 'Bout carin' what people think?"

"I care what _Will_ thinks!" She all but screamed at Denny.

Denny's eyebrows shot high, mouth gaped open like a goldfish. "_Oh_..oh, geez, Chels, I guess I didn't think of that, I...hey! Come back! Chelsea!"

* * *

Another pair of footsteps joined hers as she jogged onto the Sprout Island bridge. Vaughn was returning from his weekly people-watching at Halia's.

"Out late again, huh?" He looked down his nose at her disapprovingly as he walked past her, his stride nearly twice as long as hers. She double-stepped to catch up beside him, and sniffled loudly, accidentally, as her heavy emotions began to subside. He peered down at her, an eyebrow drawn up. "What's _your_ problem?"

She knew Vaughn was the last person who'd want to engage in a deeper conversation, so she didn't see any harm in telling the abridged version. "Denny's just a jerk, that's all."

"No kiddin'."

Though she considered Denny her best friend, right now she was so angry with him that hearing someone so readily agree with her settled her somewhat. Even if it was Vaughn, who thought everybody was a jerk (except, ironically, himself). They arrived at Mirabelle's, reminding Chelsea of the first time they'd been there together. Maybe...

"So." Chelsea scraped her heel back and forth on the ground. "Got anything interesting to tell me _this_ time? Or _warn_ me about?"

The hesitation before he answered told her that he'd understood what her question translated into. But also just like her, he wasn't going to be the first to flinch. "Y'know, I noticed somethin' when I dropped your chicken off." His voice actually held some sort of emotion this time. The anticipation coiled up tight inside her as he leaned down, inches closer to her.

Then, the condescending spark in his eyes that she'd become all-too-familiar with appeared. "Your coop's a fuckin' mess. There's feed all over the place."

"_Dammit_, oh, I can't believe I..." She knew his answer was just him pointedly avoiding the _real_ topic, but it hit her hard, and she sighed, exasperated with the whole day. "I totally forgot about it, I gotta go clean it up. Thanks for reminding me." He humphed, mistaking her remark as sarcasm. "No, Vaughn, I mean it, I should go clean it up _no_w."

"_Now_? It's pretty late, don'tcha think?..."

"Yeah, but I can't leave it like that, I'm not going to just let them run around in that."

"No. You can't." He was distant, almost lost, that she hadn't been offended but was instead taking it to heart. "Good. Good to know _someone_ else 'round here puts some pride into their work."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "That's gotta be the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day."

"Well, _that_ sucks."

She laughed faintly, and gave Vaughn a loose wave. "Don't worry, coop'll be spotless in no time. See you around."

"Right. Be careful walkin' home."

"Always am." She smiled gently, and he shook his head, disappearing into Mirabelle's shop.

* * *

"Chelsea! Chelsea!" Coral zipped right into her line of vision as she walked from the Ranch Island bridge to her house. She just blinked at him, speechless. _Now what could they want?_

Coral hovered over to her shoulder and sat down. "Come to the chicken coop, we have a surprise for you. Please, please! Hurry!"

Chelsea obeyed, and when she reached the coop, gasped loudly at the sight that was before her.

It was immaculately clean. Perfect. Camilla and Penny were peacefully asleep, just the right amount of feed was in the bins, and not a speck of it was on the floor. The windows, doorframe, had all been dusted and polished.

"Chelsea, we saw you were having a very bad day! And then this grouchy man came in here, saying what a mess this place is!" Coral rolled his eyes. "Doesn't he know you're _busy_?" Chelsea giggled at the image of the Sprites encountering someone like Vaughn for the first time. "Anyway, we're here to help you, Chelsea! That's what we do, so...that's what we did!"

Chelsea fell to her knees, crying, all the stress from that day releasing itself as she sobbed into her open hands.

"Chelsea! Chelsea! What's wrong?" Coral tugged on the sleeve of her shirt, alarmed.

"Th-thank you, Coral. Thank you, _so_ _much_..."

* * *

_First of all, thanks to everyone for reading so far, and especially to __**KarasHunter**__ for the nice reviews! :) I'm writing for myself first and foremost, but it's really nice to see that I have an audience that cares too. Oh, I love all the characters so much. I'm repeating myself, I know. And though this fic is Will/Chelsea, I particularly love writing her interactions with Denny and Vaughn. The two of them remind me heavily of two of my best friends (there's even dialogue in this fic that has been/will be ripped directly from RL conversations with them, that's how similar they are), who I miss dearly since moving 1200 miles away. *sheds a single tear* So writing about them and Chelsea is somewhat cathartic, in that sense.  
_  
_But enough of boring you with my personal life. :P_

_This chapter took much longer to write than I intended, I had to edit so many things. And I'm not entirely happy with the ending but eh. Luckily all those cut-outs provided me with scenes for the future. Next chapter will be interesting, I promise, now that plot is really set into motion. New characters, perhaps? :O Oh, and points if you get where I named Chelsea's first chicken from._

_Hope you enjoy(ed)! As always, I like reviews! :3 _


	8. Wishes

_William,  
_  
_How does life on the Sunshine Islands find you? Your Uncle Regis tells me that the mining business has become very profitable. Have you joined him on any outings to the mine? It would do you well, if you haven't.  
_  
_As for your mother and I, nothing is out of the ordinary. I, myself, have been frightfully swamped with blueprint after blueprint of expansion plans to the Executive Building. However, it is for the good of the company so it is nothing that I don't enjoy._

_Enclosed are the financial reports for Spring of this year. Please pass them on to your uncle, but I'd like for you to examine them first. When you take over for me someday it is one of the tasks you'll have to perform, keeping track of each of the regional excavation sites' daily earnings._

_Regards,  
Father  
_  
_P.S. Your mother has asked me to remind you to please refrain from leaving dirty dishes out on the table overnight, as they will attract insects._

Will wrinkled his nose. This was not the sort of letter he'd _hoped_ to receive from his father but he'd _expected_ it. He reread it several times, attempting to glean anything positive and personal, that wasn't a roundabout reference to Father's job. Finally, he decided that it was _something_ that Father had signed his own name and not just written the letter out on the bulk paper the company used, with his signature replicated onto it.

But he couldn't tear his eyes from second paragraph. Father _always_ capitalized "Executive Building", as if it were an actual person.

It'd been a rundown hospital that Father had bought out and had renovated into a corporate office. There was a mountain rich in emeralds and rubies only a few miles away, so it made perfect sense on paper. But the purchase and subsequent renovation had almost been a _scandal_ at the time. Will had only been seven years old at the time, so he didn't remember much of it, only that the hospital was the only one in the region, and its downfall effectively turned the nearby rural communities into ghost towns. Father took immense pride in it though, more than he had with _anything_else in his life (and Will included himself in this), as it made him more-or-less Uncle Regis's second-in-command. He thrived on the hope that Will, his only child, would one day inherit his position. And Will, while never verbally contracting himself to Father's wishes because of his absolute disinterest, also never found it proper to reject the predetermined path laid out before him. After all, if he was only half as successful in following in Father's footsteps, he'd have an incredibly stable and financially sound life.

He separated the letter and the report. The report he folded back up inside the envelope without giving it a second glance. He'd deliver it to Uncle Regis as soon as possible, and the specifics would undoubtedly be recounted by his uncle in the near future, over dinner.

And the letter he set on his bedside table, by the delicately carved china vase that held the toyflower Chelsea had given him those couple weeks ago.

Three weeks. When he thought about in any other terms except regarding Chelsea, those days felt endless. Strung together by nothing but the most meaningless of events, of when the inhabitants left their houses to embark on their daily routines, or when their window lamps flickered on because the sun had dipped away too far into the horizon to provide any substantial light. That was the only way Will could keep track of what time it was.

Despite the cloud of ennui he'd fallen under, the weeks hadn't been entirely fruitless. He'd _tried_ to become more involved with their other Islanders' lives, greeting and engaging them as they passed by, and even a few of them he visited at their residences. But he found himself almost as an inconvenience. Not in an awful, pesting sort of way or anything, but Will felt most "helpful", as it were, when he stood back and left them to their respective duties. They were surprisingly quick to understand the capacity to which he held them, and reciprocated with only kindness. So however outwardly odd it might have appeared that they didn't interact heavily, they were still "friends", or at least more of friends than he'd ever truly had, save Arthur.

With Chelsea, though, it was different. Time didn't dally around her one bit. On the contrary, whenever they _did_ spend time together, the moments would whisk by and he'd be left wondering _how_.

The unfortunate events surrounding her visit to Uncle Regis's on the first day of Summer only brought them closer together. Will had told Chelsea that evening that it wouldn't be soon enough until he saw her again, and he wasn't exaggerating. He sought her out the following morning, nearly falling over himself, elated and sleep-deprived, over what it meant to him that she'd taken even a loose interest in his desire to write. She'd just stood with her rucksack over one shoulder, nodding along at the appropriate times.

It wasn't like her to not have something to say. Will then realized how he'd been _babbling_, a truly ungentlemanly thing to do. And about such a frivolous topic, at that! Chelsea had places to go, things to accomplish. Not listen to him prattle on senselessly about something that should be discussed in a more private setting.

Chelsea remained still when Will's voice trailed off, her lips pressed together flatly in indifference. In a fit of nerves, Will rubbed at the joints of his fingers, popping them. Then her dull expression transformed into a tinkling laugh that was muted by her hand shielding her mouth.

"Ch-Chelsea, I...I would appreciate greatly if you wouldn't _laugh_ at me, I really don't-"

"Will, of _course_ I'm not laughing at you! It's just so...well, _funny_ how much we're alike." Her hand moved from her mouth to his arm, and her touch and the compassion shining from her eyes...she was being truthful, not simply trying to placate him. And while this wasn't the first time that she shown such altruism towards not just him, but anybody, it was from that moment forward that Will vowed to never again expect that she was anything like the other people he'd encountered; she was _so_ terrifically different, after all, and it certainly couldn't be _worse_ than the worry that at times swallowed his words.

So the next several days, he stayed loyal to his self-promise, only concentrating on all the positive aspects his budding friendship with Chelsea had to offer. Gone was the stress that had hovered over so much of the first few weeks, not just with Chelsea but with the other Islanders as well. Several of them commented that he seemed different somehow; they couldn't quite place if maybe his smile was brighter, or if it as that he spoke with more conviction than before, but he was definitely breaking out of his shell.

The best part was that it wasn't at all _hard_ to do, either. He and Chelsea began meeting up every morning at the Verdure Island beach, a habit and no longer a pleasant happenstance, and soon they weren't just _talking_ with each other for only a few minutes at a time, but spending his mornings, afternoons together. Chelsea invited Will to her ranch to meet her new puppy, Miller, and Will in turn requested her to do any fishing she'd like from his ship, the sails blocking out the rays of the unforgiving summer sun. It didn't take long for Denny to figure out where his fishing partner had run off to, and to duly _join_ her. There were times that Will wished it were only he and Chelsea there on the deck of his ship, although Denny's presence took off any pressure on him to prevent an awkward silence. He didn't quite understand why Chelsea would laugh so uproariously when Denny would offhandedly insult her by simply mentioning her mother, but all the same, she was smiling and comfortable.

He even assisted her in reeling in an enormous Needlefish. She shouted in triumph as it snagged her lure, and both he and Denny raced to her, their arms lacing with hers and (he wouldn't admit, but he all but fought Denny off for it) Will's hands covering Chelsea's with his own. The three of them gave a mighty tug and it shot out of the sea in a splendid, almost slow-motion arc, landing on his deck and flopping desperately. Afterwards he noted how his hands were somewhat clammy and slimy from handling the rod and fish, and his silky shirt was tinted a greenish hue from the seaweedy water that had splashed up. But it was worth it at the end of the afternoon when she said (with her ever-charming smile) that she couldn't have done it without the help of her two favorite guys. However, by then Denny had already left with the Needlefish, and at no point had she seen her thank the fisherman other than a spontaneous hug that he couldn't help but be envious over, even with the knowledge of their strictly platonic relationship. She hugged Will then, too, much calmer than she was with Denny, and a soft citrus scent emanated from her hair, overpowering the briny, fishy smell that hung over the boat. Will hugged her back, and it felt like the most natural thing he'd ever done in his life, his hand fanning out across her back as her hair swirled in the sea breeze. The gulls cawing above them were the only sound as Will pondered how often anybody, not just him, had ever experienced such a perfectly fulfilling silence such as this.

The letter that now lay on his table taunted him and fought with those cherished memories, Father's concerns threatening to push him two steps back after he'd taken such a large step forward.

He sighed loudly, and unfolded it again, and just as he was about to dissect it for the umpteenth time...

A knock at the door. Will slid the letter into the back pocket of his trousers, and crossed to the door, his heart thumping erratically in the anticipation that it _could_ be Chelsea. Instead, he was met by Pierre's lively purple eyes. He looked quite different than he normally did, his long-tailed overcoat off and draped over one of his arms, his smart bow tie loosened and limply hanging around his neck. A rush of swampy heat from outside indicated just _why_ the Gourmet had shed his trademark attire.

"Hello, Pierre! Fancy seeing you all the way out here!"

Pierre held out a small mesh pouch, stuffed full of fat oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies and tied off with a glossy purple ribbon. Will took it from him with an earnest "Thank you!"

"O-oh, of course!" Pierre's gaze fell to his shoes, his hand going to the back of his head and fussing with his blond hair. As enthusiastic as he was about food, and making it for others, right now he appeared downright uncomfortable.

Will enjoyed Pierre's company and his zest for the culinary arts, but the chef was extremely puzzling. It seemed the _nicer_ Will was to Pierre, the more distant Pierre became, often losing eye contact or growing strangely shy, even when the conversation veered towards food.

But Will knew better than to dismiss someone as _nice_ as Pierre just because of a few quirks. After all, Chelsea hadn't given up on _their_ friendship over a few lamentable occasions.

Will did the courteous thing and helped himself to a bite of one of Pierre's cookies. It was delectable, the cinnamon-sweet of the oatmeal melting with the chocolate. "These are astounding, thank you again! To what do I owe this thoughtful gift?"

Pierre gave him a crooked smile. "Just some extra, is all! But I actually stopped by too, I was wondering " -he scratched again at his hair, in a distracted sort of way- "Chelsea and I are going to Mushroom Island today to search for all types of mushrooms, with the Cooking Festival in a few days! I'd...er, she, actually, would like very much if you joined us!"

The thought that Chelsea requested his involvement sent Will's heart soaring. But it would certainly be different than when he'd spent time with Chelsea and Denny; at least then they were on his home court, so to speak. He would have much preferred if he and Chelsea could go on their own, but this was something that was much more geared towards Pierre's interests, anyway. Will put on his best apologetic smile. "I do appreciate the invitation, but I would find it quite intrusive if I came without Chelsea herself inviting me."

"Right. That's understandable!" There it was again, Pierre's eyes dropping from Will's face to the floor, but it only lasted for a moment before he looked back up, grinning. "Well, I hope you like the cookies! Remember, don't eat them without milk!" And with that he departed, spring in his step as he strolled off of Will's ship and back onto Sprout Island.

* * *

Will tried to pass the next couple hours, doing everything from color-coordinating his wardrobe to alphabetizing the books he'd brought with him. But nothing could take his mind off of Chelsea and Pierre (but mostly Chelsea). What if Chelsea was disheartened by his refusal to join them? He knew she wasn't the type to get too affronted by the casual "no" but still, it nagged at him, considering there wasn't any _real_ excuse he could think of, besides his own worry that things would go less than one-hundred-percent perfectly. He also regretted that after Pierre had gone out of his way to deliver the cookies, he'd been so quick to decide, and evidently disappointed the chef more than he would have expected.

No! He had promised himself not to think negatively! He couldn't let Father's letter impede the progress he made, not after he'd _promised_...

It was a little childish to pin the entirety of his discomfort solely on Father, when the truth was that his feelings for Chelsea were becoming something unparalleled. It was difficult for him to understand, himself, exactly _what_ he was feeling, whether it was only that he'd never grown this close to someone in such a short amount of time, regardless of romantic attraction, or it was _truly_something deeper. He only knew that standing around dwelling on the what-ifs, and justifying excuses _not_ to pursue it were doing absolutely nothing but driving him insane.

With Pierre's cookies tucked into his pocket as a travelling snack, Will finally ventured to the outside world. And oh, what a wretched day to choose to do so! The sky was a gloomy slate-grey, bloated towers of rain clouds ready to burst at any moment. As he walked to the dock on Verdure Island, the increasing wind, heavy and damp, only furthered how impressed he was that Chelsea and Pierre had taken it upon themselves to explore Mushroom Island.

Kirk, the boatman, was slightly surprised to see Will out, especially on a day like this, but kindly obliged to transporting him to Mushroom Island. The temperature dropped steeply as they neared the newfound island, and Will wondered if that had anything to do with the eminent storm, or was just the climate of Mushroom Island itself.

A steady patter of rain answered that for him, and the cool drizzle rapidly escalated into a torrential downpour, one to be expected from a Summer that had been as muggy as this one had so far.

Will combed his soaked hair out of his eyes with his fingers, but it did very little as the rain continued to sting at his eyes as he trudged through the spongy terrain to what he supposed was the center of the island, where an ungodly sized mushroom stood. It was probably sixty, seventy feet high. Will lifted his hand to shield his eyes as he surveyed the island for any sign of Chelsea or Pierre. He even called out for her, but his voice was lost, engulfed by the howling winds. This certainly was not the sort of place he'd ever imagined finding himself him, and yet the urge to find Chelsea safe overrode all of that. It didn't seem all _that_ exceptional of him to be out of his element like this when the thought of Chelsea now being in danger surfaced in his mind.

Just then, a vicious gust sent him stumbling back a few feet into a patch of muddy ground, soiling his leather boat shoes and the cuffs of his freshly-pressed chino trousers. His vision was blinded by...he ripped whatever-it-was that had attacked him from his face. It was a red bandana, much like Chelsea's.

Will flipped it over, to see a cursive _CMS_ stitched into the corner of the hem. It _was_ Chelsea's. But where was its owner? His heart began thumping frantically, forgetting about the furious rain and his dirtied clothes. She, and Pierre, they'd never been here before. What if they were lost in the sizeable forest that created a border around most of the Island? He called out her name again, but it was even less effective than the first time, the wind whistling louder than ever.

There was a sharp bump at the back of Will's leg, and he wheeled around, expecting the worst. But it was only a pink piglet, snorfing and happily wiggling its curly tail, not one bit put off by the tempest that had befell the island. Will crouched down and rubbed the top of its head. "Why, hello there!"

"Hwonk!" The pig nudged his snout against Will's knee. Will laughed, but in doing so, lowered his guard. The pig took hold of Chelsea's bandana in it's mouth and yanked it away from Will, giving a snort of victory and skittering off on its little peg legs.

"Come back here! How _dare _you!"

Will chased the piglet through the sheets of rain until he it vanished into the foliage that acted as the entrance to the forest. He cautiously closed in on the bush and just as he was about to lean down to search further for the pig, he saw something that was terribly out of place: a _home_. It wasn't the normal sort of home, more of a tepee, a crude hut, something he felt belonged more in his favorite fictional adventure stories than in the real world.

And there was light filtering out from under the animal-hide door.

"H-hello?" He shouted out towards the hut. The canopy of trees he was now under easily deafened the thunderous rain considerably.

"Hello? _" _A female voice called back, and Will's breath halted. Chelsea!

He sprinted into the hut full-speed, and only for a second saw Chelsea and Pierre's troubled faces before being tackled to the ground, causing Chelsea to scream the most horrified scream. Another man had him pinned to the ground, and he tried to fight back, and even got a good shove in. But with his water-logged clothing, movement was extremely difficult. He found himself trapped, flat on the ground with a spear to his throat, which was held what could only be described as a _wild_ man.

"You! Intruder! What you doing here!" Will couldn't find his voice, jaw trembling, rain and sweat mingling, sticking his hair to his forehead. The man had tanned skin and tribal marks painted over his cheeks and across the sides of his arm, and was dressed in a tiger-stripe pelt. His brown hair was stuck straight back and tapered to a tip, reminding Will of a candle's flame. And his brown eyes were empty, emotionless, as he teased the tip of his spear against Will's chin.

"Answer!" The man snarled at him, and Will could only make an indistinct squeaking noise.

"Shea, _don't_!" _Please_!" Chelsea sobbed out, her words laden with distress. "H-he's a friend!"

"This is true?" Shea lowered his spear away from Will's neck, but still stood with his legs on either side of Will's.

Will nodded furiously. "Y-yes. I-it is as she s-says. I mean y-you absolutely no harm. They are my friends, and I was o-only worried about their w-well-being. That is why I-I'm here."

"Prove it! Prove you mean good! Then I let you and girl and midget man leave!" Shea backed away from over Will, allowing him to finally stand. Will snuck a glance at both Chelsea and Pierre. They were unharmed, though visibly shaken. What had _happened_? In Pierre's hands he's saw a large sack of what he assumed was mushrooms they gathered. Which reminded him...

Will reached into inner jacket pocket and slowly retrieved the bag of cookies. "Here, Shea. These are for y-you."

"What this?" Shea dropped his spear and snatched the pouch from Will, tearing it open and dumping a cookie out into his other hand.

"Cookies!" Pierre piped up. "Cookies are things we share with people we want to be friends with. _Right_, Will?" His eyes danced between Will and Shea, and Will understood.

"Oh, yes! They are the one of best ways to show someone you want to be friends!"

"And Will? bring cookies to Shea to be...friends?"

Will nodded. He didn't know if that was the truth to its fullest, but he was sure if Father ever found out about this, he'd forgive a white lie in exchange for Will's own life. Shea brought one to his mouth and took a huge bite, chewing thoughtfully before laughing loudly, his face splitting into a thrilled grin. "Cookies yummy! Where you catch these? Shea want more!"

"Pierre made them," Will answered. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind bringing you more someday. Or, even Chelsea or I could do that, with your permission of course!"

"Shea would love cookies! Shea like friends even more though!"

Will interpreted that as an apology, but as he as about to thank Shea for not impaling him, the piglet he'd encountered earlier came scurrying inside.

"Monk!" Shea got down to his knees and the pig ran right up to him, oinking and shaking its rear. It was still stringing along Chelsea's bandana in its mouth.

"This Monk!" Shea looked up at the other three. "Come say hello to Monk! He friend of Shea! You all friends of Shea now too, so you also friends of Monk!"

Will, Chelsea, and Pierre all stooped down and took turns petting Monk. It sniffed frantically at Pierre's hand, probably detecting all the spices that left scents on his skin. But since Pierre didn't have any food to give to it, it soon became bored and went over to Will. Will gently patted Monk's head and when he thought the moment right, grabbed at the bandana again. The pig evaded him, and waddled up to Chelsea. She giggled and pet it all over, scratching at its ears. Then it simply dropped the bandana on the floor before her and with its little piggy head held high, pranced off to a small crate in the corner of the hut that was lined with hides and straw, where it curled up for a nap.

"Hey, listen!" Pierre chirped, before throwing open the door and sticking his head out. "The rain's stopped!"

"Shea want to talk to Chelsea before leaving!" He beckoned her over and they stood out of earshot as Pierre and Will, who moved outside the hut. The rain had in fact subsided, and the sun's rays were now peeking through the roof of leaves overhead.

"Thanks for saving us." Pierre looked up at Will, his smile genuine and not wavering as it had so often beforehand.

"Oh, it wasn't anything. I was only looking out for my friends, as I told Shea." Will couldn't stop himself from smiling back. "Friends" sounded so good rolling off his tongue, and even better that he hadn't had to _think_ about using it, when it just came naturally.

"It was pretty scary though. He kept babbling stuff about 'bad people' and 'Islands', and, I don't know. Chelsea seemed like she knew what he was talking about though, she kept telling him we weren't here to destroy anything..." He hesitated at the blank expression that had crossed Will's face, almost as if he'd said too much. "But, anyway! I think I shall use this experience to inspire my entry at the cooking contest! I was going to make just a simple fruit salad but now..." Pierre began listing off all of the types of mushrooms they'd collected and which would work best with what other vegetables he had at his disposal. For a second, Will mulled over informing Uncle Regis of Pierre's plans for the Cooking Festival, but then scolded himself, knowing how unfair that would make the competition. In a few minutes, Chelsea appeared, with her bandana knotted tightly around her head.

After reaffirming to Will several times that she _wasn't_ at all injured or shaken up, the trio made their way across the span of Mushroom Island, to the dock where Kirk was ready to ferry them back to Verdure Island.

Will stared at his ruined shoes, his disgustingly filthy pants that he now saw also had rips at the knees. He was ashamed that even Chelsea and Pierre, who he could consider friends, had to see him in such a state. This was the second time he'd "gotten dirty" for Chelsea, and with her hand brushing by his as the boat cruised back to the mainland, he knew (and it didn't upset him in the slightest) that it probably wouldn't be the last.

* * *

Will's evening consisted of regrettably having to dispose of his shoes, and deciding there'd be no better way to chase the tumultuous events of that afternoon from his mind than by recapping it in his journal. He never had a _problem_ writing things down before, with the knowledge that nobody would be interested in reading it anyway. But now that Chelsea had shown support, the words just wouldn't flow; he imagined showing his tales to her and her giving him a look of bewilderment, that perhaps the one hobby he had, that he put so much effort into, was a waste.

He kept scribbling, erasing, even just jotting any words down that flitted in and out of his mind, and found many of them had to do with Chelsea. It was obvious to him that his strong feelings for her were why he put so much stock in her hypothetical opinion, so maybe he was trying _too _hard, but it was frustrating all the same.

He began thinking of what Pierre had said earlier, of what Chelsea and Shea had talked about upon meeting the wild man. Part of Will had hoped Pierre would have continued, but another part pleaded otherwise, because now he'd have something to talk to Chelsea about next time they met up. It was awfully confusing and a little unnerving; here he considered himself so close to Chelsea, taking pride in the amount of time they spent together despite still being relatively new on the Islands himself, and yet there was still so much he didn't know about her. Or about her adventures, it seemed. He knew she'd made the Islands more prosperous in the matter of a season-and-a-half, but that couldn't be the whole story. He knew enough from all the stories he read that there was never just one layer to a person, nor one strict path in their life. And with his own life having played out much like a storybook at times, it was fair to assume that he would meet his share of twists and turns, quite like today.

There was a knock at the door, and Will could only hope this knock wouldn't lead him to the same predicament he'd been in earlier this afternoon. Most thankfully, when he opened the door, it was Chelsea. Besides her red bandana, she was wearing a heather-grey t-shirt, red plaid shorts and a pair of black flip-flops with decorative plastic flowers along the thongs. Her hands hid something behind her back.

"Hey, Will, guess what I have for you!" Before Will had the chance to ask what, her hands appeared from behind her back, holding a large plastic container full of cookies. "Cookies!"

"Oh, _more_ cookies?"

"Well, it wasn't fair that you had to give away the ones Pierre gave you to Shea. So we made some more!"

"Thank you very much!" Will took the container from her. "It's rather late but...would you care to come inside and share some with me?"

Chelsea giggled, her small hand placed to her lips. "Sure thing! I was hoping you'd ask!" She swung her rucksack off her shoulder and unzipped it. "I even bought a bottle of milk at the diner. Can't have cookies without milk!"

Will ushered her inside, and led her to one of the rear rooms. "I apologize for my appearance," he said, referring to the plain white t-shirt and navy silk lounge pants he was sporting, and he knew his hair was surely an unsightly mess with all the activity he'd undertaken during the day. "If I had known that I'd be visited by a lady, I would have taken the time to don something much more presentable."

"No." Chelsea bumped her hip against Will's leg and gave him a saucy smile. "It's okay, I quite like your appearance."

Will's face shone beet-red as they seated themselves beside each other. The table was in the middle of an alcove that jutted out several feet, surrounded by what much resembled a restaurant booth, although much more cushiony, with maroon velvet seats and backs. The window that wrapped from either end of the alcove was five panels wide, allowing for a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the ocean below.

As Will poured a glass of milk out for himself and Chelsea, she retrieved something else from her rucksack. "Here, Will, I...the cookies aren't the only reason I stopped by tonight." She passed what was in her hand over to him. "This must've fallen out of your pocket when you were fighting off Shea."

It was Father's letter, stained with dirt and water, and the ink bleeding around its now-curled edges. Silently, Will unfurled it and smoothed it out before folding it back up neatly, and setting it across the table.

"I...okay, I shouldn't have read it, I'm sure, but I couldn't help myself. I didn't know you're taking over your father's company one day! That's wonderful!" She touched her hand to his arm but he didn't think anything of it, too concerned with the misinformation she may have gathered with reading the letter.

"In many other peoples' opinions, yes, it is, but I don't particularly care to become a business executive. I've dropped hints to Father on occasion but he continually fails to give them any regard. And I try not to discuss it with too many other people, as they take my complaints to only mean that I am ungrateful."

"I'm sorry." Chelsea swirled her cookie around lazily in her milk, and she sounded truly sorry. Will wondered just how she could really comprehend the gravity of the pressure that was constantly heaped on him.

"I really do appreciate your concern and interest, but it's only that...my relationship with my parents is rather complex so I'd prefer that no one else involve themselves in it unless it is upon my request."

"I _understand_."

"I _assure_ you Chelsea, you do not." Will replied tersely, becoming short with her for the first time since they had met.

"Okay, so why don't you _explain_ it to me so I _do_ understand then!" She stood up, her blue eyes flaring with contempt as she stared down at him.

"I am not of the sort to share every detail of my life so readily, Chelsea. But _that_, I know you understand."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Pierre informed me that you and Shea had quite an interesting exchange of words when you met today. About...he and I aren't even sure, but suffice to say it is something very important to you that you didn't see fit to tell me, even though I have entrusted you with many of my most guarded thoughts."

Chelsea clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyebrows arching high into her hairline. She then cleared her throat before sitting back down beside Will. "Listen. Will. There's a lot..._a lot_...you don't know and...it's not that I don't _want_ to tell you, it's that I _can't_. I actually _can't_. Yet, anyway. I promise in time you'll understand, you'll know. I promise."

"If you promise, than I have no choice but to take your word for it. I only hope it comes sooner than later, Chelsea. I apologize profusely for the way I spoke to you, but I suppose it just made me feel as if you didn't trust me."

"Will, I trust you more than anyone else here, I mean that. Especially after today, what you did. I've never had anyone go to those lengths for me, so please believe me when I say that."

Will didn't say anything, only turned his body so he could see better out of the open window behind him. The stars glimmered in the ink-black night, and off the crystal waves of the sea below. He decided that he did believe her, because she _was_ nothing but honest with him, in his life where truth was taught but never rewarded (quite the opposite, really). She hadn't _lied_ to him about anything, only refrained from telling him in the first place.

"What are you doing?" Chelsea breathed out beside him, her head also turned to view the stars.

"Would it be too cliché if I were to say that I was making a wish?"

"Hm, maybe a little." She tittered quietly, breaking up another cookie and dunking it into her glass before offering a piece to Will. "What would you wish for?"

"To be as courageous as you. To do what I want with the sort of conviction you have. You've done so much for the Islands already, and it's because you haven't been afraid to put yourself out there, to possibly fail. I envy that."

"I can't take _all_ the credit, I have all sorts of help, you know. And I can help with that wish." Chelsea reached across the table and picked up the letter that was still on the corner. She held it up so Will could very plainly see it. "Here." And she forcefully crumpled it up so it was no larger than a tennis ball.

"Chelsea, no! You mustn't!"

But Chelsea ignored his cry, and handed the letter back to him. "Now, all you have to do is do what _you_ want."

Will studied the wad of paper in his hands. He could do what he was "supposed" to do, to peel the letter back to its original form, and keep it as though it were some treasure. But the reality of it was that it would sit in the back of his bureau, doing nothing but acting as a sort of watchdog. He would do things knowing it was _there_, in turn thinking of Father's reactions to his every move.

Or.

With only a split-second of hesitance, Will wriggled his arm through the opening in the window and released the letter into endless ocean below. His eyes caught Chelsea's as he retracted his arm back inside; they were shining, and her mouth was parted open with an astonished smile.

Will watched as the letter bobbed up and down as the ocean's waves carried it off. It could end up on another shore, or be caught up in a fisherman's net, or Heaven forbid it, be eaten by a sea creature. He could only think of it being much like himself when he left home, sailing off into the great unknown, no knowledge of what was in store for his future.

Chelsea drew her knees up so they were curled under her, and she inched closer to Will, letting her head come to rest at his shoulder as her arms snaked around his waist. He put one of his arms around her back supportively as he lifted his gaze back to the stars above. _The stars on the Sunshine Islands must be different than those back home_, he thought, as Chelsea's breathing slowed and she shifted against him to get more comfortable. _Granting wishes before I even wish for them.  
_

* * *

_I had a lot of fun with this chapter, as I always do with Will. It might sound a little "empty" right now, besides building on Will and Chelsea's relationship (which is very fun, mind you) but there's a lot of important plot things here that set up other parts of the plot. You'll see! Also, what's this deal with Pierre being so weird? Hrhm. Not as difficult to figure out as Will's making it out to be, I can tell you that, dohoho!_

_The Shea stuff will be elaborated on more next chapter, too. Haha I love Shea, he's so cute. :3_

_Hey, so humongous ginormous thanks to __**airtrafficstreams**__ for the explosion of thoughtful reviews. Reviews are the best, but they're even better when you receive a bevy of them after being at an amazing concert of your favorite singer. And a THANK YOU (yes, a Caps-Lock!thank you) too to __**phantasiagirl**__, whose review was one of the biggest compliments I could get, with saying how I had an effect in her choosing to marry Will! Awesome! TEAM WILL!_

_'Kay, so, as always, thank you everyone for reading! :D Review if you are so moved~_


	9. Different

Vaughn couldn't remember a Summer quite like this one.

It was his third as a travelling animal dealer, and it was as he disembarked the ferry and headed towards Mirabelle's shop while filing through his wallet that the thought struck him.

This Summer was only two-thirds over and he'd already earned more than he had any other season so far. Granted, it wasn't enough for him to consider himself "well-off", but he had _extra_ cash for the first time since he'd moved out on his own.

His occupation was never _going_ to leave him with cash to burn, no, but he knew under the right circumstances, if he were to deal with more-than-able ranchers on a more-than-occasional basis, that he'd at least climb out of the red and be able to treat himself to a _nice_ meal, or maybe get his boots the resoling they were in desperate need of.

And if he were to be honest, his increasing income all hinged on the two days he spent here, on the Sunshine Islands. Word of Chelsea's almost-instant success had spread; even Vaughn had to begrudgingly admit that she knew what she was doing much more than any of the other "ranchers" who'd passed through, or even more than that bum Jack in Mineral Town, who was more interested in using his crops and animal products to woo the town's girls.

It'd all started with the Horse Festival a season ago. Vaughn hadn't spoken to any of the other participants afterwards, but Barley, the winner of the race, and Mineral Town's own animal expert had been more than impressed with the way Chelsea had handled her horse, saying she was a "natural" with animals. Vaughn grunted out an "Uh-huh", knowing if there was one person who was ever less wrong than he, himself, was, at least pertaining to animal husbandry, it was Barley.

Yodel Ranch was where Vaughn had gotten his boot in the door, so to speak. Barley was in dire need of some assistance around the farm, with his wife and daughter no longer there, and little May taking up more time than he'd expected. He was stretched thin, between the animals, the financial aspects, and keeping in contact with current and prospective customers. And Vaughn was freshly eighteen, legally able to make what had been his life into an actual living. While the position didn't provide him with the travel he so desired, living in Mineral Town with complete strangers and free room and board at the Inn was far better than the only other two options that he could surmise: stay in his hometown of Nightshade, a proverbial ghost town with even less promise than people, or return to Foxglove, the suffocating, poisonous city where he'd spent several years of his childhood.

He didn't believe in fate, or anything close to it, but he ended up being dealt a pretty lucky hand. After his year in Mineral Town, Barley informed him of a travelling position (Vaughn wasn't so sure that it had previously existed as much as Barley was just making it up on a whim and hoping it'd turn out for the better, with Vaughn's already-short fuse whittling down under the confines of Mineral Town and _only_ Mineral Town).

Moving out, moving on, constantly so; that was his life, that was what made him, for all intents and purposes, satisfied. And while others probably would have looked at the hours and hours of travelling he soon undertook as a way to meet new people, forge new relationships, he saw it as the opposite. He never had to really get to know anyone outside of a business setting. No, who he really grew close to were the livestock, the beasts that never saw him or anyone else for their pasts or flaws or successes or possessions. They never asked him if anything was wrong, or wanted to talk about their day, or felt the need to criticize him for shallow reasons. They were creatures of habit, as was he, and that similarity was, what he felt, earned his respect for them and vice-versa.

However, the Sunshine Islands were slightly, just _slightly_ different, than all the places he'd been before. The people actually, well...they weren't so horrible, at least those he had to do business with. Not that he outright hated anyone he worked with, and it wasn't as if he considered any of the Sunshine Islanders _friends_, nothing as disgustingly sentimental as that. It was just that, if he were to fill out any work forms and list an emergency contact, he might very well consider naming Mirabelle.

Mirabelle, while having a much more positive outlook on things than he considered healthy, showed him the same hospitality Barley had, always leaving a place for him at the table. Which he seldom took, but every now and then, when Julia wasn't there to talk his ear off over something incredibly inane, he would join her. Vaughn had been surprised the first time he'd done so, that she would keep silent unless there was something about business that needed to be discussed. But he supposed that he acted as Julia's foil, with his natural reticence a welcome interruption to her daily life.

And then there was Julia. Boy-crazy, motormouth, sweet-and-empty-and-bouncy-as-a-marshmallow Julia.

Long-legged, dewy-skinned, doe-eyed Julia.

Hurdling-towards-him-and-flapping-her-hands-like-a-mentally-deficient-chicken Julia.

"Hey, wow, about time you showed up! It's way past lunch time!" He side-stepped her, trying to make his way to the kitchen, in need of something to quench his thirst after hours spent swamped in brutal humidity, but she countered, blocking his way.

"Gosh, it sure is _hot_ today, I bet I know what _you_ need!" Julia coiled her arms together, further accentuating her already noticeable cleavage. The customary retort Vaughn always kept at the ready fizzled away, and he lowered his hat until it touched the bridge of his nose, just in time that Julia wouldn't catch the trace of heated embarrassment that crept up on him. From the kitchen he could hear voices, and none of them were Mirabelle's.

He stood stuck in his tracks for a few moments before Julia dug her fingers into his arm and dragged him into the kitchen, wherein sat the owners of the voices he'd just heard: Pierre and Chelsea.

"Got our last taste-tester, Pierre!" Julia trilled, and roughly pushed Vaughn down into an empty spot at the table. At everyone's place was a sandwich plate and a fork neatly set beside it, and in the middle of the table sat a pan filled with something that was entirely covered in a variety of plump berries. Pierre sliced and served a wobbly, creamy square onto each plate, and Julia was at the sink pouring glasses of water for everyone. Chelsea was diagonal from him with a pencil in hand, staring down at an open newspaper, and she looked almost as uninterested in being there as Vaughn did.

Vaughn watched as she scribbled something onto the newspaper, and realized it wasn't just _any_ paper; it was the crossword puzzle that _he'd_ been working on over breakfast! _What was she doing?_

Just as Vaughn thought to open his mouth to tell the farmer to keep her mitts off his things, a tall glass of water came crashing down in front of him, and Julia seated herself beside him.

"Okay everyone, time to dig in!"

Vaughn blinked at her, as if she'd told a joke he didn't get.

"Today's Elliot's birthday!" she rambled on. "I asked Pierre to make something super-special for him, so he did! This is the first time he's ever made it though, so there's no way we're letting it get served untested! You try it first, Vaughn, you're even more picky than Elliot is."

"'m not hungry," he protested lamely, but he could feel his stomach rumbling, begging for sustenence.

"That's the best time to eat, when you're _not_ starving!" Pierre waggled his pie server in Vaughn's direction, reminding Vaughn of their eventful first meeting, where Pierre had swiped his toast in an attempt to Gourmet-ify it. His eyes locked on Vaughn, ablaze with the tenacity of a wolf sinking its teeth into its prey- or in Pierre's case, a puppy attacking a chew toy. "That way you really savor all the tastes and textures, instead of just gobbling it down!"

Julia giggled and at the same time, the blob on Vaughn's plate wiggled under its own volition, as if it and Julia were one and the same. Vaughn stabbed it savagely. Just as he brought it to his mouth, Julia snapped her fingers in moment of clarity. "Oh! And this is for a party we're having at the diner tonight for Elliot! You should come, Vaughn, it'll be so much fun!"

"Yeah, Vaughn, _so much fun_!" Chelsea spoke up, affected and perky and dripping with a playful sarcasm that earned a mockingly offended huff from Julia.

He shoved the dessert in his mouth, to do away with the unexpected smirk that had formed.

It tasted perfectly fine at first. But all at once it melted into a slime, and Vaughn tried to swallow it, but all he could feel was a burst of tiny berry seeds, coarse, reminding him of animal feed.

He threw his fork down and tried to wipe the the seeds off his tongue with a napkin, and took a huge gulp of water. "This sucks. Y'sure you didn't make this, Julia?"

"Hush up, you think everything sucks. I'm sure it's not _that_ bad." Julia went to pick up her fork but Pierre's hand stopped hers, as he too had taken a bite of his creation, and like Vaughn, found himself unable to swallow it.

"Oh, _no_, now what are we gonna do?" Julia moaned.

Vaughn muttered "kill me" under his breath and off to the side he heard a suppressed snicker from Chelsea. Across the table, Pierre didn't look the least bit wounded by the fact that his dessert had flopped; on the contrary, his tongue was poked out, his eyes distant, clearly mulling over how to remedy the berry disaster.

"Does Elliot like carrot cake?" Pierre exclaimed suddenly, turning to Julia. "Not to brag or anything, but I've had many people tell me it's the best carrot cake they've ever had!" As excited as he sounded, Vaughn figured it wouldn't matter if Elliot liked carrot cake or not; Pierre would go and make one anyway. His stomach lurched at the thought of it. Sitting there pretending to be a real cake, when it was nothing but _carrots_...

"Yeah, he does like it, but..." Julia sighed heavily, tracing a finger on the lip of her water glass. "But shoot, I wanted to try something brand new to surprise him..."

"Julia, I don't think he's going to care too much what sort of cake it is when you're going to all this trouble to throw him a party in the first place." Chelsea offered.

"I guess you're right." Julia acquiesced, and as before, the light must have clicked on in her head and her eyes bulged, a grin appeared. "I haven't even picked out what I'm going to wear yet! Chels, you should stay and help me choose -"

"I don't think so." A voice cut in from the doorway. Mirabelle stood with her hands at her hips, determinedly frowning at her daughter. She didn't sound very threatening, exactly, but Vaughn had never known the older woman to cut to the chase so quickly; this time she meant business.

"What? _Mom_, this is _important_!" Julia whined.

"More important than doing your job? Julia, there's a whole _bin_ full of feed for the new calves that's been sittin' on the porch all day." Vaughn winced; he'd seen it earlier too, but hadn't paid any mind to it, thinking it was just extra stock. Shit, if he'd known that was actually to put _out_ for the calves, he would've done it before he came in. It would have taken him all of fifteen minutes and possibly saved him the trauma he was currently experiencing.

"But _Mom_! I did everything else, I'm just taken a lil' break! Gosh. I'll do it before the party tonight." Julia slouched in her chair, arms crossed, pointedly _not_ looking at Mirabelle. As irritating as Vaughn found Julia's bubbly side, at least it didn't set him on the verge of second-hand embarrassment, what he was feeling now as she sat there with her lips tugged into a pout.

"You'll do it _now_, missy."

This was getting, to put it mildly, retarded.

"_I'll _do it." Vaughn volunteered, standing up at the same time. He readjusted his hat and turned to the sulking blonde that was beside him. "Plan yer damn party, Julia."

Julia all but dove at him for a hug. He tried to dodge, but she ended up latched to his arm. "Thank you, Vaughn! You're the best!"

"Whatever." He _was_ the best, but he didn't need Julia to tell him that. Just hearing "_thank you_" when he wasn't even doing anything extraordinarily special...people were far too easily pleased. He shook her off (not without some sniggering from Pierre and Chelsea), and in a flash was out of the kitchen, across the shop and out the back door. Lifting the crate of animal feed in his arms, Vaughn drew in a deep breath, much like a convict being released after years in prison. The air was thick, warm, but it was _quiet_, peaceful.

He used his toe to pry the barn door open, noting how relatively clean (it was a _barn_) it was. He'd spent all morning shearing the sheep, and hadn't even checked in on Julia here in the barn. She had to have woken up even before he did in order for it be this tidy. The frustration that had amassed from the whole dessert fiasco ebbed away, even more so as he approached the two eager recipients of the feed he was carrying.

"Hey guys."

The two calves, one a tawny brown and the other spotted black-and-white, lowed in appreciation as he dumped their food into the trough. He stood there for a few seconds, watching them go to town on their meal, when he heard the barn door creaking behind him. He thought it was just a gust of wind, but when he checked behind him...

Chelsea.

"I don't _need_ your help." He growled, more from the principle of her being there in the first place than at Chelsea herself. Mirabelle thought _Julia_ could handle this responsibility on her own, but deciding Chelsea needed to be sent out to assist _him_?

Chelsea took a few steps closer to Vaughn and shook the newspaper - the crossword puzzle she'd taken it upon herself to work on- in his face. "Clearly you do. But who said I'm here to _help_ you?"

Vaughn tore it from her and gave it a quick once-over: it was nearly complete. "Why else are you-"

"I wanted to get out of there too, you know. I came over early this morning to get chicken feed and somehow, four hours later, I'm _still_ here playing unofficial party planner. I mean, Julia's my friend and I want to _help_ her but...well, you were there. I have a lot to get done today, still, if I'm gonna go tonight." Chelsea laughed airily and threw a glance back out the door. "Poor Pierre. He was there this morning when I _got_ there."

Vaughn stuffed the paper into the inner pocket of his vest. "Somehow I think he'll manage."

Chelsea hummed softly in agreement. "I wanted to see the cows too. I should have a barn up by the end of Summer and I heard Julia and Mirabelle say you guys have some calves..." The spotted calf mooed, in its pathetic love-me-hug-me way, catching her attention. She clasped her hands together, making an odd screechy noise, then pushed Vaughn aside to get a better look. "Awwww! He's so _cute_!"

Vaughn's mouth twitched, amused. Here Chelsea gave off this rough-and-tumble tomboy impression, but she was really just like _every_ other girl. Inexplicably drawn to cute, fuzzy, baby animals.

"She. Mirabelle only sells females," he corrected her as she crouched in front of the pen, rubbing the calf's head.

The calf's tongue slurped out, all over Chelsea's hand, and she giggled. "You grew up around animals, didn't you?"

"Yeah. On a farm."

"Me too. Or, _I_ didn't live on a farm, but my neighbors had a farm and always let me help with the animals."

"Okay."

She got back to her feet, brushing her hands off on her shorts. "But I guess all the farmers in all the towns you go to say that, that they have experience with animals."

"They don't say much to me at all. You're the only one who feels the need to ever say anythin' to me." Vaughn replied coolly. Chelsea squinted at him for a second, as if trying to decide how exactly to take what he said. _Ugh, just like a woman to read into everything. He didn't mean _anything _by it, good or bad. Just what he'd said: she was the only farmer who talked to him. _

"If I'm not mistaken, _you're_ the one who began talking to _me_, Vaughn." She cocked her head and gave a cheeky smile.

This was entirely true. _He_ had walked her home and _he_ had let his emotions get the better of him for once, and brought up the wrong subject at the wrong time, initiating this whole _game _of talking around the truth. It was bothersome, like a wound that wouldn't heal, that would keep getting scratched open, and the worst part was that it'd been self-inflicted. He hated _talking_ to people but what he hated even more was people being _wrong_, especially when it affected him; he'd rather correct them and have them dislike him than let them continue on awry and be dragged along. But Chelsea'd taken his advice as an invitation of interest. And he wasn't _un_interested in her success as a rancher, seeing as how he directly depended on it to a degree. He just wasn't about to get as involved as she seemed to expect.

He didn't reply to her. He didn't want to, as the subject teetered so precariously close to that of her wonderings of the Harvest Goddess. Talking her was so terribly unpredictable in that, when he _was_ honest with her, and she him, it was almost like having a _normal_ conversation. And when they weren't, it was this sickening game of dishonesty. While entertaining to a point, to put her in her place, half-truths were the sort of things Vaughn abhorred. Either you tell the truth or you don't open your mouth to begin with.

He suddenly became acutely aware of the silence that was hovering over them, the one that _he _was in control of, and it crescendoed into a deafening static in his ears.

Thankfully Chelsea either recognized how uncomfortable he was, or was just as put off in her own right.

"I mean, everything you said that night, don't think I disregarded it or anything. Because you were right, that I couldn't forget about my farm. You didn't give me a real _chance_ though, y'know. You were pretty much a total-" she paused, lips pinched shut as she searched for the right word. "You were basically a jackass about it."

"If speaking my mind makes me a jackass, fine by me."

"Fine by me, too. Vaughn, I've sort of figured out you're a jackass about _a lot_ of things. I don't take it personally." She took a step back after she said it, as if anticipating some sort of violent reaction from Vaughn.

He blinked profusely, like he'd just been splashed with ice water. He was well aware that he was, as she said, "a jackass about a lot of things", but he rarely, if ever, meant any criticism in a personal manner.

It was just _beyond_ weird that anybody else would be so discerning of it as well, without making him out to be this cold-blooded jerk. The people of Mineral Town had made up their minds about him (no thanks to Jack). They didn't care for him much, besides Barley. Fine, whatever. If they mistook his honesty for cruelty, that was their problem, not his. What _bothered_ him is that he couldn't even have an _opinion_ anymore, that it was disregarded simply because they didn't like him. You didn't have to like someone to treat them with respect, but they'd missed the memo.

It'd become easy to expect the same from others; most cases he was proven right on some level. Vaughn used the heel of his boot to drag a line over the hay-covered floor, face tilted down so his hat obstructed his view of Chelsea.

"I didn't mean to say anythin' at _all_," he mumbled down to his boots. "I just didn't want you to be like Jack - he's the farmer in one of the other towns I work in - wastin' his time thinkin' some Harvest Goddess is there to help him and driving the town into the ground, then sayin', 'Oh, well, the Harvest Goddess never showed up to help me.'" By the time he finished his sentence, he was looking directly at Chelsea; he knew his resentment probably sounded channeled toward her, but really, _Jack_ made him so damn mad and this was the first time he'd said as much.

"I'm not this Jack person," she replied gently, though with a tinge of hurt in her voice.

"I know that _now_. You actually give a damn. I never know when I go back to Mineral Town if it's still gonna be there or not." He wasn't exaggerating, either. There were so many times he expected to return to Mineral Town, only to find Jack's farm abandoned. There were several times in the year Vaughn had lived there Jack had shirked his duties in lieu of pursuing the local bachelorettes. Now some of those girls were taken, but Jack remained lackadaisical as ever.

"Well, the Sunshine Islands aren't going anywhere, I can guarantee you that." The calf whined for attention again, and Chelsea happily obliged, patting it and cooing as it nosed at her.

Vaughn supposed she meant it as encouragement, though she sounded very half-hearted, as if trying to end the conversation.

Chelsea separated herself from the calf with a disappointed sigh. "I need to get going. Stuff to do and all that." Vaughn watched as she retreated back to the barn entrance. With her hands firm on the handle of the door, she paused, turning to look back him. "Hey, you should stop by my ranch sometime."

"What for?"

But she was already gone.

* * *

Evening fell over the Sunshine Islands, the pitch black of night spilling over the fading orange-red glow of the sun. A crisp breeze, the first hint of the approaching Autumn, caused Vaughn to keep one hand stationed on his hat as he made his way to Halia's.

The lights were off inside when he arrived. The door was locked, and no one answered when he knocked. Julia had said something about inviting _everybody_ to the party, and here Vaughn thought she just meant the Islanders she was close with, the ones their age. Not _everybody_.

But observing his surroundings, he saw that the cafe wasn't the only place that was deserted. All of Sprout Island was blanketed in darkness. The only light was that of the full moon overhead, and the lights of the nearby Inn, which were on permanently. It was almost spooky, the utter stillness.

He _was_ the only person on Sprout Island. He had to hand it to Julia; despite how frazzled she'd been that morning over planning the party, it took some sort of talent if she had indeed managed to rope _everyone_ into coming. He didn't understand it, why they _would_ go, if they weren't friends with Elliot. Didn't they have their own lives? What was in for them to take that time out of their day?

All he wanted to do was eat, and he even considered stopping by the diner for some free food, from the party. But the image of him entering that crowd of people, who would all try to say "hi" to him, and engage him in mindless chatter...he could make do with whatever Mirabelle had left in the fridge.

When he returned to the shop, one peek in the window informed him _that _wouldn't be an option either, at least not one that boded well for his sanity.

Julia was at the kitchen table, talking animatedly with Mirabelle, Natalie, and Lanna. He may as well throw himself to _actual_ wolves, as intrude on their conversation.

A barely audible whishing sound drew his attention away from the spectacle in front of him. Chen was outside his shop, sweeping the porch. Vaughn ambled on over to him, hands stuck in the pocket of his black jeans. The lights were still on in the shop, and Vaughn _knew_ it wasn't midnight yet, time to close. Maybe he could grab a bar of chocolate or two to hold him over until morning.

"Good evening, Vaughn." Chen looked up from his broom, and Vaughn nodded back in acknowledgement before retrieving his wallet from his jeans.

"Mind if I buy some chocolate 'fore you close?"

"Sorry, but we're out until tomorrow."

"_Out_?"

"Pierre bought all the chocolate for one of his recipes."

Vaughn's fingers clenched into his wallet, and he stuffed it back into his pocket. That damned chef was always talking about making people enjoy "the wonder of food", but all he did was make Vaughn's eating experiences miserable, or in this case, non-existent.

At that moment, Chelsea came bursting out of the door, a small dog at her heels. "I found them, Chen! They were hidden behind all the corn seeds! - Oh, hey Vaughn.- So I left the money on the counter for you. Sorry again about stopping by so late."

"It's perfectly alright, Chelsea. Anything for my best customer," Chen replied kindly before he turned back to Vaughn. "Sorry about the chocolate, Vaughn. Next time you want some, it'll be on me."

Vaughn grumbled out a "Sure, fine" as Chen headed back into his shop. He didn't want chocolate in the future, he wanted it _now_. But he knew it was the most Chen could do, and he respected the merchant's work ethic enough (though letting Pierre buy _all_ the chocolate left him pretty confused) to accept the offer.

Chelsea had already started off towards her ranch, but her dog lagged behind, curiously sniffing around Vaughn's boots. It let out a growl, then a squeaky bark that caused Chelsea to stop, whirl around.

"Miller, come _on_!"

But the dog wouldn't obey, bounding around Vaughn's feet and yapping. Chelsea came jogging back and hooked a finger into the dog's collar. "Ugh, I'm sorry. I swear he listens better than this most of the time."

"No, s'alright." Vaughn knelt down, so he was face-to-face with Chelsea, and patted the puppy on its muzzle. "Didn't know you had a pup." Vaughn moved his hand from Miller's muzzle to his back, broad strokes inciting the dog to thump his tail enthusiastically.

Barley had a dog, Hanna, who was extremely lazy but still loyal. She was old, and not in the best health, but despite that, Vaughn had formed some sort of attachment to her. He hadn't had a pet since he was a kid; if there was one thing he hated most about the time he spent in the city, it was how poor of an environment it was for having a pet, and just animals in general. It was...well, _nice_ to see a dog out like this, out in fresh air and not confined in a cramped apartment or a "yard" that was little bigger than a closet.

"Yeah, I got him a couple weeks ago from Mirabelle." She smiled fondly at her pet, and straightened back up. Vaughn couldn't help but notice how ridiculous she looked, wearing an obscenely large orange hoodie zipped halfway over a black tank top and (he assumed) her shorts. It ended right above her knees (far past her shorts), and she was swimming in the sleeves, with the cuffs bunched back in her fingers. Vaughn knew he'd seen it somewhere else, that it wasn't hers, but couldn't place it.

Miller lollopped back over to Chelsea, pawing at her shoe as if to say "okay, I'm ready to go." Chelsea kept her eyes on Vaughn, lips pressed into a thin smile. "I'm glad you didn't go to the party."

"'Scuse me?"

"You would have died, Vaughn. I think you would have _actually_ died," she stated very matter-of-factly, and Miller started yipping again. "I think you would've rolled your eyes _so_ many times that they woulda fell backwards into your skull and like, given you some weird brain trauma."

"That bad, huh?" It was a pretty rhetorical question, as _yes_, he could imagine perfectly well that it was _that_ bad.

"No, _I_ had fun, mostly. _You_ wouldn't have. It was a little third-gradeish, with the cake and ice cream and cheesy decorations and all that but it's a nice break, working so hard, I need those sort of things."

"Ranchers shouldn't take breaks."

"Oh, well, thank you Mr. Authority-on-Everything-Ever-in-the-World. I'll have you know I finished everything up before I went, and even then, I got there late."

"Then what were y'just doing, if you finished everything?"

"I decided on the way home to stop by Chen's, start growing some grass so it's ready for when my barn's built. I think I'll have it up a couple days before I thought I would. I can't _wait_ to get one of those calves you guys have over there."

He still couldn't believe it, that she _truly_ was this invested in her farm. She was so close to Denny, to Julia, who worked hard but seemed far more concerned with having fun. Sure, Pierre had a honed discipline when it came to his occupation, but still, Vaughn believed that who a person was friends with said a lot about them. Though he was beginning to think (and he couldn't commit to it, because it _was_ such a foreign concept) that she was starting to view him as a "friend".

"That's...that's probably a good idea, yeah," he agreed, the words slurred with reluctance.

Chelsea twisted the drawstring of her sweatshirt absently around her forefinger, and Vaughn wondered if she was just as surprised by his response as he was at himself for giving it. After a moment's silence, she cleared her throat. "Hey, so, I'm glad I ran into you, though. I have something for you, if you want it."

"You have something?"

"Yes...?"

"For me?"

Instead of answering him, Chelsea zipped open her rucksack and pulled out a crummy-looking magazine. "Here," She lobbed it to him, and that's when he saw it was a digest of crossword puzzles. "I meant to give this to Julia at the party to give to you, but she seemed...preoccupied."

"Why?" Vaughn paged through it; there were only a few puzzles started. Despite its sad condition, it was new.

"Because you need the practice," she told him, a knowing laugh punctuating her sentence.

"Maybe if certain people wouldn't take mine, I could."

"Then consider this a fair trade-off, how 'bout that?"

Vaughn continued checking through the book, scoffing when he saw pencil and not pen in the puzzles that she'd attempted. Obviously she wasn't as masterful as she'd like him to believe. "You always use other peoples' gifts before you give 'em to them?"

"Yeah, _right," _Chelsea replied sardonically. "Like I'd buy that _for_ you. I got that before I came here, so I'd have something to do on the boat. But I'm never going to do it now, I'm so busy. I could've just thrown it away, but I thought you'd like it."

Vaughn folded the magazine in half, then tipped his hat in her direction. "Thank you for your trash, Chelsea. I guess I'll see you 'round."

"Sure."

They parted ways, and Vaughn again was struck with the thought that no, he really _had_ never had a Summer like this one. Only now he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

* * *

_Wow, I'm so sorry for the delay, everyone. Usually Vaughn chapters, I look forward to writing, but I got sidetracked by some AP/ToT stuff I'm working on...and going from writing AP/ToT's Luke to him...lol, a bit of an adjustment, so yeah. Um, let's see. Well, I'm really glad I took my time on this, because it was very different than what I originally had planned, and I hope you like as much as I do. And in case you are like me and too lazy to do the math, yes, Vaughn is younger in this fic (21) than he is typically depicted in most fics. Idk, I just don't see him as being __**that**_ _old. I've essentially just called myself old, but yeah. To me, he just gives off the vibe of an overly-jaded college-aged guy (I know too many of them lol :X). _  
_And the Mineral Town thing? Well, there's a few Mineral Town characters in SI (and a few links between them & the SI characters if you play through the game/unlock events) so...I'll just say that Mineral Town and its people will be reoccuring and eventually extremely important. :). Um and I think last chapter I said I'd explain the Shea thing a little but this was supposed to be a Chelsea chapter...then I changed my mind, whups. Oh well, I know I have some Vaughn fans out there (__**airtrafficstreams**_and _**Yami's Girl 117**__, I'm looking at you)_ _that didn't mind one bit that it ended up a Vaughn chapter. ;)_

_Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter, it's nice to see more Will (and Will/Chelsea) fans out there! Don't worry, Will's absence (mostly? ;) ) will be made up for next chapter. Thanks for reading, and thank you __**so so much**__ to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/alerted so far. It means a lot to me!_


	10. Intentions

_Oho look who finally decided to update! I'm just going to say that this was far and away my favorite chapter to write (so far). ENJOY! ;D_

* * *

"Alright, Chels!" Denny whooped, punching a fist into the air as a Flathead flopped in vain on the shore in front of them.

Chelsea's face was stung red from the heat and exertion of reeling in the fish, but she was grinning just the same; it was the biggest fish she'd caught yet, and Denny's enthusiasm only made it that much more of a triumph. Mushroom Island had become their new stomping grounds, an all-new assortment of fish to catch. Denny did most of the catching but there were times when his he'd put his rod down long enough to let Chelsea have the spotlight, watching with a certain fascination as she'd progressed from the girl who was grossed out by baiting a hook into the second-place finisher at the Fishing Festival.

Denny swung his open palm, striking Chelsea's raised hand solidly with a high-five. Seconds later, a sizeable rock, about as big as Chelsea's closed fist, whizzed by his ear. He staggered backward with a strangled yelp as Shea came bounding across the coast, eyes aflame with a primal sort of anger.

"What you doing?" He jumped between Chelsea and Denny, and shoved the fisherman in the chest. "Never hit woman!"

He cocked his fist back again, and Chelsea, despite knowing she would hardly be able to stop a maddened Shea, seized hold of it. "No! Shea! He wasn't..._don't_! Don't hurt him!"

"Then what? Why Denny hit you?"

"I-it's called a high-five, dude!" Denny stammered out, hands up and open flat in surrender.

"What is purpose of 'high-five'? And what is 'dude'?" Shea continued to glare at Denny, refusing to let him come any closer to Chelsea.

Denny swallowed, then explained what a high-five was, tenatively using Chelsea as an example, though this time the impact was much _much_ lighter. To Chelsea's surprise, Shea let out a _laugh _that sounded very much like a yell. "And 'dude', it's uh..it just means like, 'friend', or a good person!"

So we are all...'dudes'?" Shea asked, puzzled yet hopeful, tilting to his head slightly and scratching a hand through his hair.

Chelsea walked around Shea, and over to Denny, throwing an arm around his shoulder and shaking him playfully. "Of course! And Denny here is...well, he is like the number one dude!"

Shea's expression transformed from confused to delighted, and he exclaimed: "So you are King of Dudes!" Denny just nodded wordlessly, and forced an uncomfortable smile, still wary of whether Shea would sic his pig on him, or whip his spear out of thin air and skewer him.

Chelsea broke into giggles as Shea advanced towards them another step, his fist opening up and held high, expecting a high-five, which a now-eased Denny returned. Shea was a stranger in a strange land, sort of like she'd been not too long ago, and it only made sense in her mind to try and make him feel just as welcome as everyone else had made her feel. She'd brought Pierre back with her a few times, since Shea was such a fan of his cookies, and he'd shown Shea (or at least tried to) different ways to prepare fish other than haphazardly heating it over an open fire. It was a mild success, with Shea completely enthralled with the method of wrapping the fish in tinfoil before grilling it on the fire, though that was mostly because of how shiny and crinkly the foil was, more than anything.

And despite his first foray onto Mushroom Island being a bit of a disaster, Will often offered to join Chelsea whenever she mentioned she'd be going there. (Though there were several times she knew in advance that she wouldn't get all the fishing or foraging done that she set out to do, because of being drawn into conversation with Will, she never declined; yes, he was definitely a distraction but the very best sort.) Shea had already accepted Will as a "friend", impressed by the courage he'd displayed the first time they'd met; even though Chelsea and Pierre weren't truly ever in legitimate danger, Will had still risked life and limb, and in his case, linens, to rescue them. Will reciprocated with explaining basic manners and congeniality towards women to Shea, which Chelsea much preferred over Denny's suggestion to teach Shea "clever" (stupid) pick-up lines to use whenever he finally met a girl he was interested in.

Chelsea had also met Shea's adoptive father, Wada, who wasn't quite as welcoming. Shea had spoken about "bad people" and immediately viewed Chelsea and Pierre as threats, and Chelsea soon learned it was from nothing but tales manufactured by Wada to prevent Shea, in all his natural curiosity, from ever interacting with "outsiders". Nothing deeper than a parent caring unrelentingly for their child and trying to shield them from the world at large. Soon enough though, Wada had become at least begrudgingly accepting of the new people in Shea's life, when he saw the positive influence that Chelsea and the others had on him. Now, Shea wanted to become the most skilled of hunters not only for Wada's sake, but because he had others encouraging him.

"Hey Shea, you want Denny to show you how dudes fish?" Chelsea asked, observing Shea's attention being drawn to the fishing rod that Denny had just picked up off the ground.

"Yes, Shea not sure how you use stick to catch fish. Why not use spear? Much better." He reached for Denny's fishing rod, which the fisherman instinctively retracted.

"Heh, maybe some other time, okay Shea?" Denny flashed a tight smile. "We actually gotta get going." Chelsea shot Denny a questioning look, unsure of the amount of truth behind his words, and Denny offered his explanation: "There's a festival tonight, and...well, still have to finish getting everything together for it."

She'd totally forgotten! Pierre had mentioned it the day before to her, that the annual Fireworks Festival was a way to celebrate the end of Summer with the most stereotypically Summer thing there was. It would begin at nightfall, and it was already 4:30, so Denny really _wasn't _just trying to wriggle out of what was sure to be an epic undertaking, with teaching Shea how to fish.

"Oh..." Shea whispered, his mouth drooping slightly with disappointment. "Yes, Shea understand. Other tribes' rituals very important! Would not want to ruin them!"

It very near broke Chelsea's heart to see Shea so crestfallen, with the limitless energy he always possessed vanishing in only a matter of seconds. Right now he looked like the kid who was always last picked in gym class, after putting forth so much effort into trying and make friends with her and Denny and everyone else who'd visited. Clearly Denny wasn't trying to be mean, in any way, but Shea couldn't possibly comprehend why he'd be given the cold shoulder with no explanation.

"Hey Shea, why don't you come to the Fireworks Festival too! You can watch them with me if you want."

"Chels, what are you-?" Denny interrupted, but Chelsea elbowed her friend in the ribs, silencing him.

"Really?" Shea perked up, his brown eyes flickering with a childlike joy. "Shea not know what fireworks are but they sound like good thing, if Chelsea like them. Yes, Shea will see fireworks tonight!"

"That's great!" Chelsea laughed out. "Just go to Meadow Island when it begins to get dark outside, okay? I'll wait for you there!"

"Yes! Shea must tell Wada good news!" He started back inland, then turned and waved at the two. "Bye Chelsea! Bye dude!"

Chelsea giggled again, but was immediately cut off by Denny prodding her in the arm with his fishing pole. "Ow!"

"Um, you do know the Fireworks Festival is kind of...like, a date thing, right?"

"No, it's not! Since when?"

"Since...always!" Denny rebutted, and Popper, who had been quiet (sleeping) most of the day piped up: "Hot date! Hot date!"

"Okay then, smartass, if it's a date festival, then why did Pierre tell me he was going to-"

The question died on her lips as the answer revealed itself before she could finish. It all made sense now. The gifts, and why he went out of his way to be extra-friendly to Will, and now this morning she'd found out that Pierre had encouraged Will to attend the Fireworks Festival and surely, oh-so-_conveniently _omitting the "date" part. Here she'd just assumed that Pierre was just too head-over-heals for food to ever notice the uncharacteristic attention Natalie would shower him with every now and again. But clearly, it had less to do with a food obsession and more to do with that he didn't think about, or care to notice flirtation from _any _woman.

She laughed shakily, with a smile to match, much like Denny had several minutes ago when being interoggated by Shea. Denny waited expectantly for her to finish her question but Chelsea casually waved her hand as if swatting the thought away like a pesky gnat.

"N-nothing. Nothing, nevermind! Look, it's not like I have anyone I'm _obligated _to go with, like you and Lanna. Who cares if I invite Shea?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, _I _don't care. I just thought you'd want to invite-" and the pitch in Denny's voice changed drastically, like he was trying to mimic Eliza. "Dashing Prince William! Ooh, what a hunk!"

"Oh, shut up." Chelsea clawed up a loose handful of sand and flung it in Denny's general direction, grinning too hard to really care much about her aim.

"Hey, hey!" Denny backed away, holding his fishing rod up as though it might serve as a shield. "People need to quit throwin' things at me today!" He brushed the sand from his arm and picked up the pail of fish that was near him. "C'mon, let's go back to Halia's and have these suckers grilled up."

"Whatever you say, _dude_."

Denny took advantage of Chelsea walking ahead of him as they headed towards the boat, running up behind her and using his free hand to scoop up a pile of sand and stuff it down the back of her shirt.

* * *

"Are you _serious_! You and _Shea_!" Lanna squealed loudly, and Chelsea gestured for her to hush.

"Lanna, I _told_ you it was a complete accident...and you've never even _met_ Shea, how can you be this excited?"

Chelsea poked at her grilled herb-marinated fish, pointedly refusing to make eye contact with Lanna, lest she grow even _more_ frustrated over this whole non-issue than she already was. She didn't mind eating with Denny and Lanna, even though most people might have felt like a third wheel, but Lanna had been chattier and nosier than normal, wanting to know the latest of who was going with who to the Festival. Denny had cracked under pressure (not a surprise, when it came to Lanna), and blurted out that Chelsea had invited Shea.

Chelsea wasn't about to tell him that his girlfriend was probably much more interested in problem itself than with actually trying to help Chelsea _solve_ it. With her luck today, everyone on the Islands would know about it before the Festival started in a few hours. It was a lot like the game Whisper-Down-The-Lane. Whatever she shared would be no doubt misconstrued by each messenger (sometimes purposely, she thought bitterly) until it no longer remotely resembled her original statement.

"Ooo, he sounds cute though, like Tarzan! You could _tame _him, if you know what I mean!" She winked at Chelsea then giggled madly. Chelsea groaned under her breath and caught Denny's eye, silently imploring him to step in.

"Ah, c'mon, Lanna, she was just trying to be nice." Denny countered weakly.

"You mean you just don't want to _swing on his vines_?" Lanna giggled even more at her joke. Popper, who had hopped over to the back of Lanna's chair, chirped "Swing! Swing!" in agreement.

"Lanna, I'm not really looking for a boyfriend..." She'd told Julia that so frequently within her first few weeks on the Islands, and it never felt so...so _unpleasant_ to say as it did now. No, she wasn't exactly _looking _for a boyfriend but if the right person came along...

She jammed a huge forkful of fish into her mouth and swallowed it thickly. Why was she trying to kid herself, and play these mental games with herself? As much as she prided herself on her independence, ever since Will had arrived, she'd taken to hugging her pillow or her teddy bear each night as she fell asleep, and imagining it was him. Her stomach did somersaults whenever they talked, or even when he just said "hello" in passing, and she'd feel ripples down her spine whenever he touched her in the slightest.

She had it _bad_, terribly bad, and Denny was the only one who knew anything of it (though she made note to inform Pierre as soon as possible). As much as she wanted to believe Denny, and Julia, and everyone else who commented on what they felt was Will's attraction to her, she just _couldn't_. He was kind, sweet to _everyone_, not only her, and had so much going for him, even if he wouldn't admit it. She was just plain Chelsea, the ordinary farm girl who did not stand much of a chance of every belonging in his life as much more than a friend, a confidante, someone who could help him boost his confidence until he found it suitable to return to his homeland and take on whatever it was his father wanted him to (or, she hoped instead, to pursue his own path). As much as she wanted more than that, the role she had now was perfectly satisfying and whenever she caught herself acting like a hopeless, smitten teenager, she'd reminded herself of how much more her friendship would mean to Will in the long run.

The dreamy smile that graced her lips must have given away where her thoughts had wandered to, and did not go undetected by Lanna. "Not even _Will_? Chelsea, he _likes _you, I can tell! You should hear some of the things he's said about you to me and Julia."

Chelsea presumed that whatever Will had told the girls was only in the utmost confidence that it wouldn't be repeated back to her, but there were those flip-flops in her stomach again, the shivery sensation climbing up her arms. It wouldn't hurt to ask, right? She tried her best not to sound _too _interested.

"Really? Like...like what?"

"Ohmigod, he said your smile is as bright and revitalizing as the Summer sun! And your blue eyes sparkle like the most precious sapphires." Lanna was virtually frothing at the mouth as Denny dramatically fake-gagged between them. "You're _so _lucky! You really should go after him, every girl should be as lucky to have a gentleman like him interested in her! Don't let him pass you by!"

"Hey!" Denny cried out. "What about me?"

Lanna turned her head to face Denny, eying him as if he were a complete stranger, and was interrupting something very important. "Yes? What _about _you?"

"Well, whaddya mean _every_ girl should be that lucky! _You're _pretty lucky! I'm a total gentleman!"

Chelsea had been taking a sip from her soda through a straw, and laughed so hard a glob of bubbles burbled up in it.

"Oh puh-_leeze_!" Lanna stuck her nose up in the air and flipped back her mane of hair. "Denny, you could learn a thing or two from Will!"

"Hey, I can totally be romantic, say all those sappy lovey-dovey things. I just...choose not to!"

"Yeah _right_, then do it!" Lanna's eyebrows furrowed, her lips tugged into a frown.

"Romeo! Romeo!" Popper too, wanted his owner to face this challenge.

"Okay, sure!" Denny cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and set a tented hand to his chest, taking hold of Lanna's with his other. His voice dimmed to a whisper. "Lanna, your lips are...like two red deflated balloons...flapping in the breeze."

"_What? _Denny, that is the absolute dumbest-"

"Hold the hell on, let me finish bein' romantic, dammit!" He shot back, before again softening his voice. "And your eyes are like...glittering pools of crystal."

"My eyes are _brown_, you moron!" Lanna almost screamed at him, jerking her hand away. Denny's eyes darted to Chelsea for support, but she had her napkin stuffed to her mouth to dam up the surge of laughter that was ready to escape.

"Like...glittering pools of...mud?" Denny was the meekest Chelsea had ever heard.

_"UGGHHH!"_ Lanna bolted out of her chair, and shoved Denny hard in the chest, enough to cause his chair to topple backwards out from under him. Chelsea hooked her arms under his just in time, saving the back of his head from meeting the hard linoeuleum floor of the cafe. "You are _so...so..._you're just so..._UGGHH_!" Chelsea had never seen Lanna so pissed off. Usually she just feigned anger with Denny, knowing he'd give in to it, but this time she was genuinely irate.

They both winced as the cafe door slammed shut a few seconds later, and if Chelsea hadn't been there to witness it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it when Denny put his fork down and pushed his half-eaten plate of fish off to the side.

"Don't worry, you know she'll get over it by tonight." Chelsea looked up at her dejected friend, who was making a point of watching Popper prance around on the knocked-over chair. She didn't completely believe her own words, but what else was there to say?

"I dunno, Chels. She seemed like, _really _mad and...well, we've been having some pretty rough days the past couple weeks and..." Denny shook his head, his brown curls dancing in front of his eyes as his mouth drew into a shadow of a smile. "Y'know, whatever, I'm still gonna have a good time at the Fireworks Festival tonight, with or without her. Right?"

She smiled warmly back at him. "Right."

* * *

Chelsea twisted this way and that as she examined herself in the half-length mirror by her dresser, constantly combing her fingers through her freshly-washed hair. She looked cute, right? Or at least not like a scrubby farmer (minus the dirt that had embedded itself under her fingernails). She'd picked out a hot pink v-neck shirt that had an orange, water-brushed daisy wrapping around the side. A knee-length denim pencil skirt and the beat-up tan corduroy sandals she'd had for _years (_that she'd manage to shove into her suitcase before her mom could find them and toss them out) completed the ensemble. If anything, she looked like herself: a tomboy trying to play dress-up.

"Chelsea, is that you!" A tiny voice shouted happily, and Chelsea whirled around so fast she whacked her elbow on the corner of her dresser. Sitting over on her bed, on the pillow, was Coral.

"Please tell me you _just _got here?" She shuddered at the thought that the Sprite might have seen her getting changed, not that she imagined Harvest Sprites tried to be so creepy on purpose.

"Yes! You look so different, Chelsea! Very, very nice!" Coral flew over and landed in the open top drawer of her dresser. In her underwear.

"Get out of there!"

"Sorry! Sorry! But it's so soft!" Coral obeyed and Chelsea slammed the drawer shut, scowling.

"Not to sound...rude, but what do you want, Coral?" Chelsea went back to finalizing her appearance, placing bobby pins in the loose knot she'd scraped her hair into.

"No, no, not rude at all! Just wanted to tell you about the Islands!"

She chuckled at the Sprite's enthusiasm. "Of course, I should have figured. What about them?"

"A new island, Chelsea! A new island's appeared! We're so happy, it means the Harvest Goddess is pleased with you! It means that you're making the Islands a wonderful place, that the Harvest Goddess could bless us with her appearance again soon!"

Chelsea wasn't exactly sure how her growing vegetables and catching fish equated to the other Islanders believing in the Harvest Goddess (if anything, she was convinced they _didn't_, but that was mostly from her heated run-ins with Vaughn). But Coral did have a point about the Islands being a wonderful place, and, yeah, a lot of it _did_ have to do with her. At least every one of the adults, and most of her peers, had made mention to her about how much more _fun_ the Islands were now that they didn't have to worry about getting by day-to-day, about whether or not they'd still be living there in a week's time. And despite the initial struggles she'd had to deal with, she'd grown to believe she _was _here for a reason, as much for the sake of the Islands as for herself.

"That sounds...great, Coral. I'll be sure to visit it, but not tonight. It's the Fireworks Festival."

Coral crossed his little arms in front of his chest and humphed. "I know, it's all Seiran's been talking about, droning_ on and on_ about who's going with who. I don't understand the big deal, Chelsea!"

"I don't either, Coral," she agreed with a smile. "But I know someone who would get along with Seiran _really _well."

* * *

She'd taken so long getting ready and talking to Coral that she knew she was going to be one of the last people to arrive at Meadow Island. Chelsea sprinted down the dirt path on Verdure Island, so focused on her destination, that she didn't notice Elliot walking the other way until she collided with him, shoulder-to-arm, causing him to drop the box of cleaning supplies he was carrying.

"S-sorry, Chelsea!" Elliot's face was so red that it could have been sunburn, and he stooped down to gather up the bottles and tools he dropped.

"No, it's my fault! I should watch where I'm going!" She knelt beside him, picking up a bottle of window-wash spray, and handed it to him. "Say, you'd better get a move on if you're gonna make it to the festival tonight. I can wait for you for a few minutes, I guess, if you want me to!"

They both stood back up, Elliot's face still flushed with embarrassment. He chewed on his lip and shuffled his feet and shifted the box around in his arms. "Well...I'm not going, so..."

"You're not going? But Julia'll be so disappointed if you don't!"

Elliot crinkled his nose, as his glasses slid down from the amount of time he'd been hanging his head. "Julia wouldn't want to watch the fireworks with a wimp like me. I actually..._asked _her the other day if she wanted to go with me but Natalie was there and just started teasing me about being scared of how loud the fireworks are! And they both laughed! I was scared when I was a kid, not now!"

"Did Julia say she _didn't _want to go with you?"

"I..I kinda ran off to my room before she gave me an answer. But she laughed at me, of course she doesn't want to go with me!"

"Elliot, I bet if anything, Julia was laughing because she thinks it's _cute _that you might be scared of fireworks! And I think if you show up tonight, it'll prove to her that you would be willing to face your fears just to see her. That's not a wimp, in my book."

"You think so?" He smiled shyly and tried to push his glasses back up with a shrug of his shoulder.

She stole the box of cleaning supplies from him, setting it right on the ground where they were. "I know it! C'mon!"

Elliot didn't even have the opportunity to protest before Chelsea grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down to the pier, where Kirk was waiting.

* * *

It was perhaps the most beautiful night of the entire Summer, fierce purples and indigos smeared with streaks of electric orange and shell pinks. The last few days of Summer, always a holiday in and of themselves and the chance to recall unforgettable adventures, and to hypothesize about those memories that had yet to be made. Chelsea remembered when she was a little girl, the end of every Summer was punctuated with one last visit to her grandmother's beach home, and there had never been anything more perfect and purely carefree than that one last week before the hustle and bustle of school beginning. She'd spend the days playing with kids from other families, who she'd only see maybe once, twice a year, and they'd do storybook things like play boardgames on picnic tables and ride their bicycles (or tricycles) down weather-worn lanes. The nights she would unwind with her grandmother and her cousin, Mark, who she also only saw a few times a year. Every year they'd watch the _same_ two movies over and over (_Mary Poppins_ and _National Velvet_), but it'd become a tradition of sorts, and they were good movies. Besides, Grandma couldn't be bothered to buy new tapes because she didn't know how to operate the VCR in the first place; she left that up to Chelsea and Mark.

So long ago. Simpler, happier times, and something she always took for granted because at the time she was naive enough to believe it'd always be like that.

She hugged herself as the night sea wind flecked at her body, remembering Coral's words about the Islands being a wonderful place to live. It really was.

"Hey. Look." Chelsea tugged on Elliot's sleeve as they disembarked, and nodded to the northwest corner of Meadow Island. Julia was sitting under the shade of cherry blossom trees, her long legs stretched out while chatting with Natalie and Sabrina, who were on either side of her. She made no effort to hide that she had noticed Elliot's arrival, pointing towards him and Chelsea and leaning in close to whisper something to Sabrina as Natalie huffed and crossed her arms.

"Go _on_!" Chelsea gave Elliot a small nudge in direction of where Julia and the other girls were, and he set off to meet them, slowly at first then picking up the pace as a gleeful Julia waved him over.

Chelsea surveyed the rest of her surroundings. Lanna wasn't too far away, and was talking animatedly with Eliza. On the flip side, Denny and Charlie sat together by the water's edge a good thirty or so feet from the girls, in some pathetic display of commiserating over their respective romantic conflicts.

She'd been worried Shea would have something resembling a panic attack, with all these people he was unfamiliar with, but there he was smiling and sitting in a circle in the grass with Pierre, Lily and..._Will!_

Shea spotted her first. "Chelsea! Here!"

She ran over to the foursome, exchanging hellos and pleasantries (and in Shea's case, a high-five). Curious about why Lily was at the Festival, when she was much more apt to spend an evening hunting within the depths of Volcano Island, Chelsea asked her.

"Will was courteous enough to ask that I accompany him and Pierre to the Festival tonight! A strange tradition, to use fireworks for celebration. In my homeland they are used to symbolize possible incoming danger, but I am thoroughly interested in seeing them used in this facet!" She smiled and placed a gloved hand at the neckline of her dress. "It's so fascinating to experience other cultures, don't you think?"

"Shea never see fireworks either!" Shea butted in with the enthusiasm of a four-year-old. "But Chelsea say they good thing, for dudes! So Shea want to see!"

Gannon's booming voice filled the air, announcing that the fireworks would begin in about five minutes.

"Perfect!" Pierre clasped his hands together and motioned over to the south-center of the island. There were two long picnic tables with trays of desserts and pitchers of juice and other beverages. A cluster of lawn chairs was nearby, two of which had recently been occupied by Denny and Charlie. "I made some lemon bars and berry tarts to enjoy with the festivities tonight. Why don't we all go over together and watch the fireworks together there?"

Chelsea snagged her arm around Pierre's. "Oh, no, we all watch the fireworks with our _date_, the person we _asked_ to the Festival!" She glared at him but put on a sugar-sweet smile for the rest of their friends. "_Isn't that right_, Pierre?"

"But...but Pierre invited me!" Will rubbed at his chin, confused.

"Pierre must have forgotten this was a _romantic _festival."

Pierre laughed a trembling laugh and fussed with the collar of his jacket as all eyes landed on him. "Haha, oh yes, how could I forget! Silly me, I always assume all Festivals are like the Cooking Festival, just a gathering of friends!"

"Ah, romantic events are very important to settlements as historic as these Islands," Lily stated with a sense of dignity, then turned her attention to Will. "Will, was I mistaken or did you make mention of hoping to escort Chelsea on a such an event in the near future?"

"No! I mean...yes, but..." Will's already-nervous eyes met Chelsea's, and a whirl of delight rattled through her. He wanted to go on a date? With _her_?

Off in the distance she could see see Julia curled up beside Elliot, and Elliot brimming with joy. _She_ was acting just like Elliot had, thinking that the person she was crazy about wanted nothing to do with her, only come to find out all that was needed was a proverbial push in the right direction. Not that she was an overly positive, sunshine-and-rainbows kind of person, but it encouraged her. If Will didn't want to watch the Fireworks with her, then it'd be disappointing, yes. But what if he _did _want to?

"I would not want to rebel against any of the customs set forth by the ancestors of such a noble land! Chelsea, Will, if you'd prefer to watch the Fireworks display together, I will gladly step aside and allow you to do so!"

"Lily, thank you." Chelsea raised a hand in gratitude. "But I promised Shea I'd watch with him."

Shea mistook Chelsea's gesture for a high-five, and slapped her hand happily. "Shea only have fun if Chelsea have fun too! Shea know Chelsea always have fun with Will so Shea think it okay for Chelsea to see fireworks with him."

After a brief pause, Pierre added, and not begrudgingly: "I agree wholeheartedly! I will make sure to save some lemon bars for the both of you, though!"

The first firework sizzled into the air, exploding in a blossom of red and blue.

"How splendid!" Lily exclaimed. "Now, the two of you make the most of this glorious night!" She said to Will and Chelsea before leading an awestruck Shea over to the picnic tables, while Pierre lagged a few feet behind.

"Pierre, wait!" Chelsea grabbed his arm before he got too far away, and drew him into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered. "I know that you..." her voice trailed off as she pulled away from the hug, but his gentle smile indicated she didn't have to finish her sentence.

"I didn't have a chance anyway, Chels. Good luck." And the chef tipped his hat and wandered over to join Shea and Lily.

The only other time Chelsea could remember seeing fireworks this magnificent was one year at Streusel County's annual fair. She hardly ever went to it, as it was just full of people she didn't like and rickety rides and _pig races _and other outstandingly rural things, but one year her dad promised he'd let her drive the car that summer if she sucked it up went because it happened to be the same day as her mother's birthday that year, and they didn't really have enough money to get her any other gift. What a brat she had been, but then again, she liked to think of it as an ingrained side-effect of being the only child. Right?

It was probably also somewhat bratty that she was liking this company - Will - ten times more than that night with her parents, even after not having seen them for half a year. But he didn't make her feel as if she had to rely on him, like they did. He treated her like an adult, not like a fragile child that would only hurt herself or others if she stepped out into the real world. In fact, she adored that he wasn't dependent on her, nor was she on him. He let her be herself, _encouraged _her to be herself, more than anyone else ever had. She could only theorize that had she not come to these Islands and met him, and all her other friends, that she would have withered away and become just another trapped resident of her broken-dream town.

A halo of blue illuminated over a fan of bright white-yellow, and Chelsea couldn't stop herself any longer. She smiled over at Will. "So, is this our first date, then?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I wasn't sure how this night would transpire, to be honest. I thought it was odd that Pierre requested I join him, but he has been such a good friend to me since my arrival that it would have been ever-so-rude to decline. It's most unfortunate that I did not get to see you before he asked me, because I certainly would have liked to ask _you_, Chelsea. Despite not knowing of the romantic inclinations of tonight, in my case they were have been such intentions behind my request."

"I would have asked you too, had I known. Y'know, with those romantic intentions and everything. I'm glad Shea got to come though, he seems to be having a lot of fun. And Lily too, I think this is the first time I've seen her here other than when we first met. Besides, we're...here, now. Together. So it all worked out."

"I thought it very considerate that you meant to keep your promise to Shea. Mind you, I'm ecstatic that it's just you and I, but it further speaks to what a lovely person you are."

"Th-thank you," was all she could get out, internally falling all over herself at the word "lovely".

"Chelsea?" Will breathed, barely audible over the din of the fireworks, but he lowered his head closer to her, and lifted a hand to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "Would you mind too much if I held your hand?"

"N-no. In fact..." She grabbed hold of his hand, maybe a little too quickly, inwardly cringing at how sweaty her own hands were. _Gross. He probably doesn't want to think of me as someone who sweats._

But Will didn't react in any kind of negative manner, instead appearing much more relaxed now that they were holding hands. Chelsea's mind flashed back to her childhood Summers again, this time her thoughts circling around the puzzles that she'd do with Grandma that would be one thousand pieces. That excitement when she found two pieces that fit together, after searching and searching.

The fireworks display continued, and comfortable silence hovered between them, over the entire island, save for the "Oooh!"s and "Wow!"s from Denny and Charlie. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Will smiling contentedly and inched closer to him. He was wearing a crisp cologne (if the color blue had a scent, it would have smelled like his cologne), the scent mingling with the salty ocean and wafting into her nostrils, soothing her. She lay her head against his arm, letting her eyes slip shut for maybe a few seconds, maybe five minutes. She couldn't tell and didn't care, just enjoying being there with Will and listening to the bangs and booms that could very well have been from her own heartbeat.

She heard him chuckle softly in the back of his throat as somewhere in the background, Shea yelled out "That one same as Pierre!", and she winked open an eye just in time to catch a small purple firework fizzling away.

"I'm so relieved we have the opportunity to be alone, as there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something that I can no longer contain because it's been consuming my thoughts the past several days."

"Will..." she mouthed, sure that her heart had jumped far enough up her throat to block anything she attempted to say.

"Chelsea, I'm not entirely sure how to express how it is you make me feel. Only that in the short time I've known you, I've learned more about myself and grown to _like_ myself more than I could have ever imagined. I'm so used to people telling me what I'm supposed to be like, and the type of person that I need to be with, but you have helped me discover the person I _really_ am. That is to say, I _like _you, Chelsea. I could never have dreamed developing such strong feelings in such a short matter of time, that I can not stop thinking about you or missing you when you're not near; it's all something I would have expected to read about, not to experience personally. It's all very frightening, as I've never encountered anything remotely close to this in my life, and the unknown is always a gamble. But to me, it is a sign that I can not let another day go by without confessing my desire to take our friendship to the next level. I can only pray that you reciprocate my feelings."

"I-I..." She was so happy and overjoyed and speechless that she didn't know whether to cry, or hug him, or what. Only that what she felt like doing most, throwing up because she was so anxious about what to say in reply, was decidedly the worst option. Finally, the words spilled out. "I can't believe that...all that stuff you just said, that's...I like you too!"

"Goodness, I had myself worried sick not knowing if your feelings mirrored my own. I feared you only saw me as a friend, or even worse, as a 'project', much like Father does."

"No, no. Never. I'm pretty damn crazy about you, Will. I've never met a guy who's gone out of his way for me like you have, who's just so _kind_ and caring and doesn't see me as plain ol' Chelsea...at least a guy I've _wanted_ to see me as more than that. It's always been creepers and delinquents that have hit on me." She squeezed his hand. "Not _you_, of course. I mean, you always _say_ such nice things but you really make me _feel _that way too. And I haven't felt that way about myself in a long time, either. I mean it."

"I know you do. Another thing I like about you, that I can always trust what you say." He squeezed her hand in return and turned himself so they were facing each other. "It's so beautiful tonight, don't you think?" She might have assumed that he was talking about sprays of fireworks above them, but his eyes didn't waver from hers.

"It is," she murmured as fountain of green exploded high in the sky and reflected in Will's eyes.

"I was hoping it wouldn't be too forward of me to ask if I could kiss y-"

Chelsea pushed up on her toes and locked her lips firmly on Will's, her arms circling around his back. She felt like her heart might hammer out of her chest when he placed his hands on her waist; they fit so well and made her feel so _safe_. The kiss was just like Will, unsure and sweet, yet so overwhelming that her head was spinning and her skin was prickling with heat. It was as thrilling as the first kiss that it was but as natural as a hundredth. Pulling away, she gazed up into the array of colors sparkling in his blue eyes, smiling the same victorious smile as the little girl who'd just clicked the final piece of the puzzle into place.

* * *

_As much as I want to take credit for Denny's, uh..."romantic" lines, I can't. The "glittering pools of mud" is from Drake & Josh, and I don't like to steal but geez, I heard it and thought it fit Denny so well. And the "deflated balloons" thing is from...a classmate of mine in the fifth grade who used to come up with outrageous "romantic" lines. Don't ask me how I remember that, I guess because I just always thought it was so funny, heh heh. I have almost as much in store for Denny as I do for Will and Chelsea, so get ready for that!_

_Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this fic so far! Those who've helped me along the way (you know who you are), you guys are absolute stars. But each and every one of you who's reviewed, favorited, alerted, or just read it...thank you!_

_ALSO, randomly, I added a quote as the header to the beginning of the story, in Chapter 1. I saw it the other day and just thought wow, how fitting it is for so many characters in this._

_Oh, and I **might** do a cut-out scene from Chapter 9, from Will's POV, as a one-shot. So be on the lookout (possibly) for that!_


	11. Separation

_No Will/Chelsea in this chapter, but like I've said before, Denny's very important to this story. So here ya go.  
_

* * *

This was stupid.

Crazy, ridiculous, insane, just...well, just _stupid_!

It'd been only a few days since the incident at Halia's, but those few days had been very much an eternity for Denny, filled with fitful sleep, fishing struggles, and little-to-no appetite. He was becoming the kind of person that he always scoffed at, and vowed never to become: the lovesick fool.

Were he and Lanna over? It wasn't _just _the argument about him "not being romantic"; it was a stale repetitiveness, circling the relationship like a shark and the episode at the cafe was just the razor-sharp jaws closing in for the kill, with Denny left flailing helplessly.

He'd first become aware of the drift between them at the beginning of Summer. He was on his way back from a late lunch with Lanna, when he saw Elliot and Julia along the shoreline near his house, talking and generally enjoying each other's company, just as they did at least once a week. And Denny never really thought much of them hanging out (because it wasn't his business anyway), other than that there was some obvious level of attraction between them. But lunch with Lanna that day had been particularly dull, where the conversation was as lifeless as the bream that was on his plate. A remarkably powerful surge of what he could only believe was envy hit him as he saw his two friends at the ocean's edge. Elliot and Julia weren't even a couple (or maybe they were? Whatever.) and they seemed so much more...well, _happy _with each other than he and Lanna. Not bored, or alternately, walking on eggshells fearing any wrong word might cause her to erupt.

At the Fireworks Festival, he'd pulled her aside and stumbled through a not-very-well-thought-out apology that bordered on pathetic, consisting only of "I'm sorry!"s and reassuring her that he _knew_ her eyes were brown (and quite beautiful at that). Lanna replied rather coolly that it was _fine_, but that she was going to watch the fireworks with Eliza anyway, because the little girl would be so disappointed if she didn't (Denny was dying to ask "And I _wouldn't_?", but knew it'd only be answered by him being physically assaulted in some way for the umpteenth time that day).

Denny certainly didn't think it was "fine" that they could barely communicate with each other anymore, and to make matters worse, he had no one to turn to for advice (or, what he thought would be the better solution, a slap in the face to regain his senses). Chelsea had been more than perceptive to the fact that he could use definitely use a friend, on several occasions offering her free time to him in case he wanted to investigate the waters of the newly-risen Mystic Islands, or just stay at his shack and vent. But she was dating Will now, and Denny just didn't think it'd be fair to deprive her of experiencing that thrill of a new relationship, just because his was screwed up.

He didn't want to pass the blame entirely to Lanna, but dammit, if she _did _notice that their relationship was in danger of collapsing, she was not being very proactive about attempting to mend it. It was up to him, and with the way he'd been led to feel he could do very little (if anything) right anymore in her eyes, all he really wanted now was an answer from her: _What happened?_

The answer to that sleep-draining question came, funnily enough, at Charlie's birthday party. It wasn't so much a party as it was a small gathering (just Charlie, Eliza, and Denny), but either way, Charlie was bouncing off the walls with excitement over the fact that his two best friends were there to share chocolate cake and ice cream, and most importantly, to give him presents.

Charlie's gift from Eliza was a version of Parcheesi with wooden pieces that Gannon had carved himself, and it was midway through their third round of it that Eliza stood up and announced that she had to leave; she had singing lessons with Lanna.

"You're just leaving 'cuz you're losing!" Charlie stuck his tongue out at his friend.

"Please, Charlie, I don't care if I lose a silly _childrens_' game." Eliza rolled her eyes and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. "I really _do _have singing lessons, and Lanna said I could help her make the posters for her comeback."

"Her _what_?" Denny stood up so fast that he nearly upended the game board. Popper echoed his owner, repeatedly chirping "What! What! What!" in a frazzled way.

"You didn't know?" Eliza reminded him very much of Lanna in that moment, her head tilted to the side and her voice coated with an artificial concern to mask the pride that she knew something he didn't. "Oh, I guess Lanna hasn't seen you much lately. She's been so busy with me and with trying to get everything together for her comeback. Talking to her manager, her family, all that important business stuff."

So she _was _serious about it after all. It did explain why she'd been so crabby lately. Here Denny thought it was just "girl things", but he also knew when Lanna became focused on something, she didn't exactly retain her sense of humor.

"You're not really into music, are you, Denny?" Eliza asked, observing Denny's state of despondence. The fisherman barely shook his head "no" before she continued. "Well, I guess it'd be a lot like trying to talk to Charlie here about fashion: I know he _cares_ because it's about _me_, of course, but could he _really _understand?"

"Hey! I know like, lots of things about...lots of things!"

Eliza and Charlie started bickering about what Charlie supposedly did and did not know, but Denny wasn't listening. He was thinking about what Eliza had said. What _could _he have really done to support Lanna? Not much; in fact, he probably would have only added to her irritability by sidetracking her.

Charlie and Eliza were too embroiled in their disagreement to hear Denny tell them that he'd won on account of forfeit, before he grabbed a piece of cake for the road and set off back to his house.

He was more keyed up that evening than the rest of the previous nights combined, unable to do _anything_ but hold a never-ending cyclical conversation between himself and Popper, as if the bird were Lanna. It did very little good, with Popper just repeating the end of Denny's questions and sometimes even dozing off when Denny would rant on and on about why Lanna/Popper shouldn't pursue a comeback. This was, as he'd kept telling himself the past few days, _stupid_, yes, but he couldn't believe _he'd _been stupid enough not to see it coming.

All Lanna had talked about lately _was_ her career, and not just the past, but plans for the future. Denny didn't _mind_ that much at first, because it was perfectly fine that they each have their own "thing"; he had his adventures with Chelsea, she had her love for music that she could gab about with Eliza. It was just that the Lanna _he'd _fallen for never wanted to be part of that merciless entertainment world again. The only thing he'd heard from her was how it could've eaten her alive if she hadn't gotten out when she did.

Yet, seemingly without any sort of provocation, she'd become infatuated with the idea of singing again and the adoration and popularity that coincided with her success. Denny decided it'd be best for him to not say anything at all, instead of expressing how he truly felt, because it _had_ to just be a phase. His silence was interpreted as explicit disinterest, with Lanna glaring at him practically every time he'd change the subject so readily. He supposed he could tell her the _truth_, that she was far too sensitive to return to an industry that had mistreated her so greatly, but that would probably end in her crying (proving his point, yes, but...) and leaving him feeling like the world's biggest jerk. It still wouldn't change his opinion, though. He never was, and never would be, able to genuinely comprehend the celebrity lifestyle. It was something he could never take from her, and even though she'd made it very clear when they first started dating that her time on the Islands was just a hiatus, he'd been so stupid to believe that love conquered all, including hiatuses.

Still, Denny really wanted to know what could that world give her that _he _couldn't? Sure, fame and fortune and awards. Basically, superficial garbage that paled in comparison to how much he cared about her.

_That's_ what should have told her instead of trying to be funny! Damn retrospect. Damn music business, damn women, damn _everything_!

He hurled an empty bait container at the wall, frightening Popper.

"Geez, sorry there, buddy." Denny sighed heavily as he picked up the container. _What am I doing, acting like __this? _He'd been through tough times before. Granted, none of them had to do with a woman he was desperately in love with, but why should he be in here throwing a tantrum? It was in Lanna's hands now, and he was just going to drive himself bonkers if he stayed cooped up in here, overanalyzing everything and projecting his frustration onto Popper.

Fishing. He was gonna go fishing. And he was gonna catch a King Fish too! He _was_. Forget the fact that he hadn't caught even a boot in the past few days, or that he wasn't even sure if the King Fish was lurking in the depth of the Sprout Island ocean at the time being. He was going to do it anyway!

So much for that bright idea. Five hours, ten casts, and one repaired fishing line later, Denny was still empty-handed. He kicked at the boulder behind him, the one located at the southeast corner of Sprout Island that he had half a mind to catapult into the ocean himself. It would create a spectacular splash, propelling fish skywards and raining them down around him. Exactly _how _he was going to do that was another thing entirely, but it was no more impossible than his current method of fishing like a sane, normal person.

Denny was seconds from tying the small pocketknife he used to fillet fish to the end of his rod and going charging into the sea himself, using Shea's technique of spearing fish as a last resort, when something pink and squirmy burst up from the waves. _What the hell...? Was that a...a tentacle?_ He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head before reopening them. It was still there, thrashing around, joined by one, three more. _Definitely _tentacles. An octopus.

He'd never caught an octopus before. He'd never even _seen_ an octopus other than on a dinner plate. It was, and could only be, fate that he'd hit the lowest of lows over a _girl _and here was life smacking him in the face and reminding him why he'd come here in the first place.

Holding the minnows that he used for bait in his hand, he stared blankly between them and the hook as all of the fishing knowledge he'd accumulated over the years evaporated in that moment. _What did octopuses even eat? Didn't they eat people? Or was that squids? _He glanced at Popper, who had no idea what was going on. _No! What's wrong with me? They don't eat birds, especially not my best friend! Get a hold of yourself, man!_

_Well, they have to eat something_. He pierced two minnows onto the hook and set his feet the best he could in the damp sand. Whipping the rod way above his head, he wheeled back and-

"Dennnyyy!" The one voice he'd given up a whole month of free sashimi to hear cut through the air at precisely the worst instant. Denny lost the grip on his fishing rod as he completed his cast, and the pole went zinging into the air, arcing high like a javelin and landing with a feeble _splish! _not too far from the octopus. He shouted out an obscenity as one of the octopus's treetrunk-like tentacles came crashing down on it, obliterating it. A few seconds later the octopus vanished beneath the waves, any sign of its existence gone other than the splintery remnants of his pole floating around aimlessly as the water calmed to a smooth, stony blue-grey. He slowly, disbelievingly, turned to see Lanna with her large eyes focused down at her feet, twiddling her fingers nervously.

Timidly, she approached him and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek, resting both her hands on either shoulder as she did. "I'm sorry, Denny."

"It's...it's not your fault." _It was so her fault! She __**knows**__ better than to interrupt me when I'm mid-cast, and that's why!_ She did sound truly sorry though, but he couldn't bring his eyes to meet hers right now, so engulfed with a displeasure that would ignite into a childish tirade if he did. His tongue felt like a deadweight, crushed under the deluge of "why, why, _WHY!_"s he wanted to spew at her. "What...what's up?"

"I wanted to apologize for how I've avoided you lately. You haven't done anything wrong, I promise. I just didn't know how to tell you about my-"

"Comeback?"

Lanna inched closer to him, laying her head on his chest. "Mmhm. Eliza said she told you about it."

"Yeah."

They stayed in silence for a while, save for the tune she was humming to herself. Her long fall of hair streamed in the wind behind her, and for the first time since they'd met, Denny found himself able to resist the urge to comb his fingers through it. In fact, he didn't want her here at _all_. He wanted to return to his house to get another fishing rod, then find Chelsea and recant what happened with the octopus, and maybe try to catch it again. Now he understood how Lanna must have felt the past season, with his always-well-meaning interruptions being nothing but the most irritating of disruptions.

Eventually she drew her hand up and set it to his face, forcing him to look at her. "Denny, I'd really like it if you supported me. It would mean everything if you did." She batted her eyelashes, smiling that effortlessly sweet smile that he was sure she had practiced to perfection on dozens of men before him, to get her way. That was when something clicked inside him. Much like a switch had been thrown, he could feel his unabating adoration for her unraveling like a spool of twine that was rolled off a cliff. He escaped from her touch, and she let out a pitiful whimper when he did.

"I don't know, Lanna."

It was the first time he hadn't yielded to her merely because of her pretty face, evident by the bewilderment that was pasted on it. Her smile withered away as she absorbed the fact that the spell she'd had him under was broken, shattered like his fishing rod. Only right now, Denny had a much stronger longing for his fishing rod to be repaired. "Y-you...you don't _know_? Don't you _want _me to go back into singing?"

"I want you to do whatever you want, okay? Whatever would make you happy. But I can't go _with_ you, if that's what you mean. I can try to support you from _here_, if you'd want to do that long-distance thing but..."

Denny paused, contemplating why Lanna hadn't exploded at him yet. No, that _wasn't _what she wanted. Anything but an unconditional commitment to her was unacceptable, and he could see her using every ounce of resolve she had left to put on a brave face, but there were cracks everywhere. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, her jaw was set, and her chest was heaving with deep steady breaths.

"You know," she began through a sob, then errantly brushed at the tears that were now trailing down her cheeks. "You know, you're the only reason I didn't leave already, Denny. I mean, this place is _nice_, but staying here for the rest of my life?" She shuddered and again wiped at her eyes.

"I...I don't think it's so bad." He took a step towards her but she backed away.

Popper fluttered over to her, crowing sadly. She sniffled and hugged him as he nestled into the crook of her arm. "I just thought you'd _want _to get out of here, even for a little bit, and see where I came from."

"Lanna, I don't _like_ where you came from! Everything you've described to me, it sounds like complete hell! When you first came here, you were so miserable about the way they treated you. You said it yourself that they called you 'disposable' to your face! Forgive me if I don't get why you'd wanna go back there when...okay, maybe I'm not _perfect_, but I assure you I've treated you a hell of a lot better than they ever could or would. What's wrong with what we have?"

A rhetorical question if he'd ever asked one. It was amazing how he'd wondered the same thing himself but a few hours ago, and now here he was trying to figure out what _wasn't _wrong.

Lanna must have been thinking the same thing, her eyebrows knit together and her lips flattened into a thin frown. "I don't think you want me to answer that, Denny. If you can't even _consider_ taking time out of your _oh-so-busy _life to-"

Denny prided himself on being offended by very few things. Unfortunately, Lanna knew what those few things were. "Don't you freakin' start! Don't you patronize what I do!" Popper soared out of Lanna's arms, circling overhead and squawking in confusion at the animosity that had saturated his surroundings.

Lanna stood with her hands balled into fists. Denny kept an eye on them; they were shaking violently, as if it was taking everything in her not to wallop him with one. "Then don't _you_ act like I don't know what I'm getting into! I _told_ you when I came here that this was a _hi-a-tus_! Do you know what that word means? I'm not even twenty-two, I'm not going to spend the rest of my life here! If you're so idiotic as to think that I-"

"Idiotic?" Another button pushed. Denny laughed humorlessly, incredulous, and at this point not caring anymore what he said to this mystery woman who had replaced the girl he'd given his heart, his soul, his everything to. "_I'm_ an idiot? Lanna, you're the one who doesn't get it. You know, if I asked you to give up part of your life to stay here while I go after the King Fish, you wouldn't do it, but guess what? I wouldn't expect you to. But you expect that from _me_? Really? And that you were even ignoring me in the first place after I've all but bent over backwards to try and make you happy, make you see you're more than just some pop star? If you wanna go back to singing, _fine_. Just don't come crawling back to me when they kick you to the curb again."

Lanna raised her open hand, ready to strike, before reconsidering and dropping it to her side. The tears reappeared, spilling out, her voice breaking from what he surmised was the effort of believing what she was saying. "I only asked you to come with me because I lo-" She couldn't finish her sentence, wracked with sobs and not even attempting to hide it anymore.

_Oh Goddess, it wasn't supposed to reach this point._ Denny didn't want to be the evil ex-boyfriend; he wanted there to be _some _sort of peace between them, because he would always at least _care_ about her. He advanced towards Lanna, hand outstretched, but she smacked it away furiously.

"No! I don't need you, Denny. I made it the first time without you, I can do it again!" With that, she turned sharply on her heel and fled from the beach as fast as she could, her muffled cries echoing behind her.

Rubbing his wrist (which had gone numb with the rest of his body), he watched her figure until it disappeared into the horizon. Popper hovered down onto his shoulder, cooing softly, but all Denny could hear was Lanna's last sentence reverberating in his head.

_I know you can, Lanna. I know._

* * *

_Buh I had the hardest time with this because I didn't want to make either of them the villain, but still wanted to show the obvious strife between them. Denny/Lanna is weird to me: I like them a lot, and they have their cute moments, but at the same time don't see it as a couple that stays together and gets married. This was supposed to be longer, too, with an extra scene with Denny and Chelsea, but I'm really satisfied ending it like this._

_Soooo anyway, of course thanks go out to all my reviewers, alerters, favoriters and readers!_

_And Will/Chelsea is next chapter, don't you worry. :P _


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